The Titan Movement: A Batman SYOC
by DarthTindalus
Summary: *SYOC CLOSED* Crime is running rampant in Gotham, and the masked vigilante known as Batman has disappeared. Desperate to thwart the growing threat of the Gotham crime families, government officials have launched the Titan Movement to stop the growth of darkness in Gotham. Rated T for violence, dark themes, and suggestive content.
1. Introduction

Darkness is brewing in Gotham City. Crime is running rampant, and the one shining light in the primarily dark Gotham night, the masked vigilante known as Batman, has disappeared. Ever since, the Falcone and Cobblepot crime families have joined forces to take over the Gotham underworld, and new sects are springing up by the day. The GCPD's resources are being expended, and the few good cops in Gotham - among them Commissioner James Gordon - aren't enough to keep the crime families in check.

District Attorney Harvey Dent, Mayor Hamilton Hill, and Commissioner Gordon have decided to form a new movement to beat back the growing crime families in the absence of the Batman. Made up of vigilantes and even a few ex-criminals, this new Titan Movement is focused on bringing order to the chaotic Gotham streets - and, in the meantime, uncover the mystery surrounding the disappearance of Gotham's masked defender.

* * *

As you can see based off of this short introduction, _The Titan Movement_ is set in a period when Gotham is in chaos. The characters making up the titular Titan Movement will be submitted by you, the readers, through a form that you can fill out with the specific details about your character's background, personality, and other important info. To submit a character, simply fill out the form below and send it in a PM to me. Then I'll respond to you and make sure everything fits and all the details I need are provided, and I will get to work on publishing the chapters introducing your characters. **There will be 10 slots open for original characters to be submitted.** I will update the summary of the story once the SYOC submissions are filled so there will be no confusion.

Before I give the form details, I want to list a few key details about the setting and characters so you guys will have some info to base your entries around. First, this story is set within Bruce Wayne's first year as the Batman; thus, he will be younger than he generally is in most stories. His age in this is 24. I just wanted this out there so you guys would get an idea of how best to picture Batman/Bruce Wayne while filling out your forms. Also, since this is so early in Batman's career as a crimefighter, many of the familiar faces of his Rogues' Gallery aren't present yet, but that doesn't mean they won't turn up.

The only legacy villains currently active in this story are Carmine Falcone, who runs the Falcone crime family; the Penguin (aka Oswald Cobblepot), who runs the Cobblepot crime family; and Man-Bat (aka Kirk Langstrom), a mutated half-bat, half-human creature who was Batman's first foe, characterized in media depictions as a hoax. As I said, these are the only active villains at the start of the story, but many more classic faces will turn up. Oh, and as a sidenote, since he is so young, Batman has no sidekicks yet.

Those are the key notes concerning the background of this story. Now, below is the character form. As I mentioned, all you need to do is fill it out with the requested information, and then send it as a PM to me. I'll get back to you as soon as possible! Thank you for your interest in joining this story, and I hope I will be able to craft a story that pleases not only the submitters, but also any potential readers.

* * *

**Name: **Give your character's full name. If they have an alias, give it as well.

**Gender: **Pretty self-explanatory.

**Age: **Give your character's age.

**Physical appearance: **Describe your character's physical appearance. Skin tone, hair color, eye color, face and body shape, the whole bit. Also make mention of the types of clothes they frequently wear.

**Equipment: **Describe the different tools/equipment/weapons utilized by your character.

**Powers and abilities: **List the powers your character possesses. A bit of a restriction here; as these are vigilantes battling (for the most part) a lot of crooks, I don't necessarily want a ton of superhuman warriors that are on par with the Justice League. Be as unique as you want, just please don't give them anything _overly _outrageous.

**Background:** Give your character's background/biography, and get as detailed as you want; I love to read, so I'm open to as much of it as you so desire!

**Goals: **Basically just sum up your characters purpose in taking on such a mission as the Titan Movement. Are they wanting to do it because they, deep down inside, have a hero's heart, or are they doing it just to clear their name, like they're a criminal or something? Map out whether or not they are more of a hero, villain, or antihero.

**Habits: **Give me some things your character likes to do in their free time, anything to help me get to know them better.

**Family: **Discuss your character's family, and touch on their relationships with each family member. You can also tell each member's current status, if they're localized in Gotham, and if you'd like them to appear or not. Pets can go here too, as they're technically family.

**Friends: **Mention any close friends your character has, and give a brief description of their appearance, life story, and their relationship with your OC. It doesn't have to be as detailed as your character's background, but just something I can build off of.

**Love Interests: **If your character has any love interests, list them here. If they don't, tell what kind of person they might be interested in.

**Vehicles: **Give any vehicles your character commonly uses.

**Thoughts On...: **Obviously, as a resident of Gotham, your OC will have a pretty good recollection of the key figures in the city. Give a summary of your OC's thoughts on the following: (1) Batman; (2) Bruce Wayne [remember, differentiate Batman from his alter-ego!]; (3) Oswald Cobblepot/Penguin; (4) Carmine Falcone; (5) Commissioner James Gordon; (6) District Attorney Harvey Dent [not yet evil]; (7) Mayor Hamilton Hill; (8) the Man-Bat [does your character believe in Man-Bat, or do they feel he's a hoax?]; and (9) Gotham as a whole, from the GCPD to the government and beyond, just a general summarization of their views on the city. If you want, you can write the thoughts in first person POV of your character, if it helps you get better entrenched in the story!

**Other: **If there's anything else I didn't give a category for that you want to mention, here's the place to do so!

Thank you all for your submissions. I hope to hear from some of you soon!


	2. Chapter 1 - Sean O'Malley

**Chapter 1 - "Sean O'Malley"**

Gotham's winds whistled through the alleyway, the only sound aside from the distant honking of car horns, police sirens, and a far-off gunshot. Sitting, back pressed against an old brick wall that had been standing for who knew how long, Sean O'Malley ran his fingers over the edge of his Bowie knife, staring down the dark abyss of the alley.

Ever since he had been nabbed by the GCPD in a surprise raid, Sean had been forced to lie low. The Gotham branch of the Irish mob was losing ground just weeks earlier. Maybe a month? The Falcone crime ring had been massing power and moving into all territories of the corrupted town, backed by some new funding partner.

Falcone's new partner wasn't necessarily new to Gotham, or even its seedy underworld. But he _was_ new to this particular facet of it. Oswald Cobblepot was the root of a company bearing his name, though its honest work hardly could be attributed to his skills. No, they were more routinely applied to a more unclean aspect of the Cobblepot name, one that his parents would've shuddered at had they still been alive to see what depths their prestigious name had sunk to.

But Sean wasn't too concerned about the politics of Gotham. Since he had been grabbed by the cops, he was constantly on the search for a way out of jail. Sure, he did want to return to the streets and continue to make a living, but he wasn't your usual, clear-cut villain.

Actually, the very center of Sean's shady career was a heartwarming, familial purpose.

Hailing from Ireland, Sean had grown up on a farm. It was the beautiful, picturesque locale that Old McDonald himself would've grown green with envy at. His father, a city boy named Paul, had decided to move to the isolated countryside with his new bride, Grace, and start a new life, far from the hustling and bustling life he had known for so long.

A new family followed shortly thereafter. First came Sean, the first curls of red popping from his head much earlier than anticipated. Then, three years later, his sister Mary was born. The two grew up close as ever, and the family was happy. Yes, there were a few clashes—Grace was hereditarily religious, and Paul wasn't much for the church life—but they were always worked out easily, usually with Paul giving in to his beautiful wife's whims.

Things were unfortunately not always the picture book tale, though. When he was fourteen, Sean was awakened by voices outside. After carefully tiptoeing down the stairs, he entered the kitchen and gazed outside with curious eyes, and he saw his mother and father, the latter arguing with a man clad in the white coat Sean was able to associate with scientists and other lab workers. He was flanked by three men, none of whom looked quite friendly.

The scientist spoke with a voice that would take a lot of work to forget, and he was chiding Paul about something to do with a mutagen that had been stolen, and how he now owed him a debt. The next moments were forever burned in Sean's mind: one of the three men behind the scientist stepped forward, plunging a knife right through Paul's ribs.

Eyes opened wide, Sean stumbled back as his mother's screams sounded before they were cut off by a gurgle. When he glanced back, he saw her slumped over next to his father. Both were dead, pools of blood forming around them. Sean took off up the stairs, where he found Mary in her bedroom. She was awake and wrapped tightly in her blankets, terrified—as she rightly should have been. Then, Sean heard a crash downstairs . . . and everything else was cloudy.

Even now, the thoughts still gave Sean shivers as he remembered the stories he had been told by neighbors and Friar Murphy, who was an old priest close friends with Paul. The story went that the Gardai, Ireland's police, responded to reports of screaming and found the renowned farmer and his fair wife slain on the doorstep, and three men wearing gas masks dead in the house. Sean had been found with Mary, and neither spoke. Mary grew terribly ill, and soon fell into a coma of sorts.

Friar Murphy had funded Sean and Mary to Gotham, where she was to undergo extreme care from the best physicians money could buy. The only problem was a lack of funds, and that's what led Sean to the streets. The only way he knew to raise money for his sister's treatment was to steal, and so he did.

His mind restored to the present moment, Sean breathed softly. Having been just released from jail only a few days, he needed to lie low to avoid being put in the GCPD's spotlight again so quickly after his release. He hadn't even contacted the mob yet, was afraid it might put him right in the center of action once again.

A grin appeared on Sean's face, an aspect of his appearance that could only be outseen by one other feature, his fiery red curls. Now thirty-one, Sean looked every bit as old as twenty-five. His tanned skin and green eyes complemented his red hair, and a well-built body was the perfect channel for his . . . unique abilities.

Sean climbed to his feet, returning his blade to its resting place beneath his jacket. The only thing he could remember of the men breaking into his house was the scientist talking about how he had finally recovered his beloved mutagen, and he would have his "revenge" on Paul for stealing it in the first place. Sean was injected with the serum first, as he was the most combative of the siblings. He didn't even know if Mary had put up a fight.

When he reawakened, Sean had found he had superhuman strength and speed, which could be triggered at will by racing his metabolism even faster than usual. Such expense of his body would cause him to become very tired and worn out, and he would have to replenish his energy through food and sleep.

No one had any proof of it, but Sean was fairly adamant that he had been the one to kill the three gas-masked men in his house that night. Extreme usage of his super strength could kill a man with one punch—he had found that out easy enough in a gang fight one time. But could he have really killed three men when he was just fourteen?

"Not a spectacular upbringing, I imagine," Sean had said on more than one occasion, but he mumbled it once again now. He began to walk down the alleyway, the smell of someone grilling hamburgers flaring up his nostrils. His grin only grew wider; he knew the smell like the back of his hand. The Hungry Feeling, the Irish pub he called home, was also home to the best burgers in Gotham—at least in an old-school Irish boy's modest opinion.

He kept walking, checking over his shoulder out of habit. He doubted the GCPD would have officers patrolling in this part of town; gangsters were known to frequent it, and the police had decided long ago that they'd only venture out there if they were called. They weren't going to walk into danger with open arms.

Sean kept walking, hands in his pockets, as he slipped into The Hungry Feeling. "Oi, Sean my boy!" the burly proprietor/chef/bartender named Finn called out, waving a thick arm to the newcomer. He spoke with a thick Irish accent, even thicker than Sean's. "Haven't seen ya in ages. What's been keeping ya?"

"Business, I'm afraid," Sean replied. What kind he wouldn't mention; wouldn't do for prying ears to pick up on his dealings, and he didn't exactly want to publicize his incarceration. While he did do some extreme things to help his sister, he didn't want everyone to know what his line of work was.

Changing the subject quickly, he piped up, "You got one of those nice-smelling burgers ready for a hungry tenant? Assuming I still have a room, that is."

"Of course you do, my lad. And," Finn started, reaching behind him, "I happen to have a burger fresh off the grill. No one's claimed it, until now."

He passed the plate to Sean, who took it gladly. He reached for his pocket before Finn stopped him. "Woah, woah, woah! You already paid me in advance for your room, and seeing as how you didn't use it for so many weeks. . . ." Finn shrugged, as if he had given Sean a complete sentence. "It's on the house. Welcome back, Sean."

Sean gave Finn the response he was best at; a grin. "Thanks, Finn." He turned and started up the stairs, entering into his room, designated by the number 2242. As he entered in, he placed the plate with the burger on his counter, before peeling off his jacket.

As he did so, a beep sounded from his pocket. Sean reached and withdrew his phone, answering it. "Sean O'Malley."

"Mr. O'Malley," a deep voice sounded. It was one Sean knew, and he didn't really appreciate it calling him. "I've got a proposition for you," Commissioner James Gordon slowly, coolly said.

Sean gulped before answering. "Look, Gordon, I just got through serving my time. I haven't done _anything _since I got out. If you're trying to pull—"

"Relax, Mr. O'Malley. The GCPD isn't hunting you down. Well, at least not in the way you're insinuating. I've been appointed to offer you a job."

Silence ticked past in seconds before Sean took the initiative to continue. "What kind of job?" he asked, skeptical—and worried.

"Mayor Hill, District Attorney Dent, and myself have collaborated with some of the biggest funding partners in Gotham, and they've pledged—along with the federal government—to find a solution to the rash of crime Gotham has been experiencing. Namely, the crime families. Falcone and Cobblepot."

_A solution? To Falcone? _Sean couldn't resist letting a smile lick at his lips. "What are the details?"

"This solution is called the Titan Movement. It's an organization designed to stop trouble before it really gets started. We've gotten word something's brewing in Gotham, something big and something bad. We want to stop it before it gains traction. And to do that, we need a strong solution. People like you."

Sean winced inside at the final sentence. "What do you mean, 'People like you'?" he asked, afraid of the answer.

A sigh came from the other end of the phone line. "Look, O'Malley—I'll just cut to the chase right here. We know that you've got some . . . powers. We checked up on you in Ireland and found out about what happened to your parents and your sister." A few more seconds of silence passed, then, "If you help us, we will make it worth your while. Money that can be used to help her—and yourself."

Sean didn't need a second thought to decide. "I'm interested. When do we meet?"

* * *

**Author's Note: Here it is, the beginning of our journey! In this chapter you got to meet Sean O'Malley, the first member of our crew. What did you think of the character and the start to the story as a whole? Leave a review and let me know! I'll be back with chapter 2 soon!**


	3. Chapter 2 - Jemima Allson

The sun shined through the windows of nineteen-year-old Jemima Lucille Allson's apartment bedroom as her alarm beeped quietly. _Not much of an alarm_, she thought to herself groggily, wiping her tan-skinned face as she rolled over to slap the clock off. Rolling behind her in her bed brought images of Jemima's boyfriend, Daniel Elliott, into her mind's eye.

Rather than thinking of his appearance, Jemima rolled over and looked at him with her own eyes. Daniel was fast asleep, his hands clasped together under his head as he lay there, snoring lightly. His shaggy red hair was tousled to pieces, and a slow breeze of air escaping his lips steadily blew a long, restless lock up and down, in a constant bob.

Jemima grinned slightly as she examined his face. Daniel was her boyfriend of two years, as they had met at the high school Jemima had left with a bad opinion. For all the bad, mean people who had hurt Jemima with tormenting at her diagnosis of ASD, Jemima had found two, strong friends: Daniel, and her best friend, Emmeline Parker, whom Jemima shared an apartment with. In fact, she was asleep in the other bedroom across the hall.

Jemima rolled back over, minding the bump in her stomach. She was eight weeks pregnant with her and Daniel's baby; Jemima's adopted parents, Killian and Victoria Allson, weren't particularly thrilled she had gotten pregnant when just nineteen, but they still vowed to support their daughter's fledgling family.

Born to a young couple of Puerto Rican immigrants, Jemima had been put up for adoption and was adopted by Killian, who worked in IT for one of Gotham's top computer-based companies, and Victoria, a psychologist who specialized in neurodevelopmental disorders. Jemima loved her parents; while they were not biologically related, they were the people she was closest to, her father a bit more. He was the one who inspired her to follow her desires to pursue a career in information technology, much like him—she was taking courses for just such a career at Gotham University.

As she sighed softly, Jemima heard more rustling behind her in the bed and felt heat on her neck. "Hi babe," came Daniel's groggy, morning voice as he leaned down, planting a kiss on her neck. She yawned, leaning into him as he wrapped his left arm around her waist softly, pressing deeply into her. "How's my girl feeling?"

"Fine," she said softly. Her eyes gazing at the tanned wall of her bedroom as she intertwined her fingers with his. "You?"

A chuckle escaped Daniel's lips. "Me? I'm not the one carrying a child in their stomach, sweetheart. _You _are." He nestled his head up against hers as they lay in silence, absorbing the moment.

"Maybe not, but you are the one taking college courses."

"So are you!"

"But not to become a big, powerful policeman." Jemima rolled over, her brown, cat-like eyes looked into his bright blue pupils. Mimicking his previous words, she said softly, "_You _are."

A grin and another laugh, and Daniel bent down, capturing her lips with his own. A few seconds of ecstasy passed and he pulled away, the boyish smile still present. "And you're taking the brainy computer classes." Without missing a beat, he added, "Your breath smells."

A snort escaped Jemima's lips as she said, "Yours isn't much better."

The two shared a laugh as Daniel bent down again, kissing her deeply. He then sat up, rolling out of the bed. Daniel yawned deeply, stretching his arms out wide and letting his muscles ripple in his tank top. Well, attempting to let them ripple. He had been working out more, but his physique hadn't quite reached a state to which he could show off with much effect. All the same, Jemima let out a giggle at her boyfriend's attempt to display his strength.

He whipped his head back around, and she could see his cheeks were as bright as his fiery hair. "Hey now," he said, attempting to make his voice ooze with injured pride. It didn't work; it all came out sarcastic. "You've got all the brains in this relationship. I've gotta make up for it _somehow_."

Jemima rolled over to lay on her side, legs propped up and holding her head up with her left hand, the arm bent at an angle to support her head. Her frazzled black hair, usually wavy, was as much bedhead as it could be. She offered a sly grin. "You've gotta have some brains." She lolled her head in a show of mock nobility. "You chose me."

Daniel grinned as he got on his knees on the bed, leaning close to her, faces inches apart. "You got that right. Boy, was I smart." They quickly closed the gap again, sharing another tender kiss before they broke apart. "Now look, you can't keep enticing me back to kiss you. I've gotta get dressed!"

The two laughed as he got up, grabbed a change of clothes, and headed for the bathroom for a quick shower. Jemima grinned at him until he left before her smile faltered, and she let out a groan.

Things weren't as simple as they seemed. Yes, she loved Daniel—at least, she thought she did. He was attractive, his personality was charming, and, well, they _had _slept together and had a child on the way. But she couldn't help but feel there was something . . . wrong about the whole situation.

Jemima crawled from the bed and reached for her own change of clothes, a pair of khaki cargo pants and a purple tank top, as she reached for the end table and grabbed her cell phone. The flashing light indicated a notification, so she clicked her phone on and read over the notification. As she did so, her mouth slowly began to fall until it hung agape completely.

There was a text message from Emmeline, but that wasn't the cause of her mouth hanging agape (it was some implicatory, crass message about the night she and Daniel had spent together, the usual sort of thing Emmeline would say to get Jemima's goat). No, this other message was something highly unusual.

The words "Wayne Enterprises" stood out like a hairless cat. Oh, were those things ugly.

Swiping the screen and inputting her password, Jemima clicked the notification and waited with bated breath. The shower spicket kicked on in the bathroom and some insensitive crooning from Daniel filled the air. A smirk overtook Jemima's lips as she glanced to the door. _Typical Daniel. _She flicked her eyes back down to read the message, and as she did so, her hands began to shake. She couldn't believe it.

The message read:

_Ms. Allson,_

_I am reaching out to you on behalf of the government of Gotham City and the CEO of Wayne Enterprises, Mr. Bruce Wayne himself. A board of business executives—Mr. Wayne included—has appropriated the proper funds to an initiative from the minds of Gotham's key officials, namely Mayor Hamilton Hill, the District Attorney's office, and the Gotham City Police Department. This initiative is built to help put a dent in the growing threat posed by Gotham's crime families (no, the "dent" wasn't sponsored by the DA)._

_We have an opening in this new movement that we fill would be just right for you. Mr. Wayne himself has kept an eye on you, and he likes your style. He recommended you personally for appointment to this initiative. If this does interest you, please do not hesitate and respond ASAP. If you agree, I will forward you a meeting place so we can discuss the details and set everything in stone. I hope to hear from you soon._

_Yours truly,_

_Lucius Fox, Wayne Enterprises_

The formal format of the message was a tipoff that this was something important, but when she read the whole thing, Jemima could feel fully that this was something truly special. _Bruce Wayne _had noticed her? The playboy billionaire who ran the largest company in Gotham? She felt butterflies in her stomach at the thought that such a prestigious company would even know who she was, let alone the CEO—and that he knew enough about her to recommend her to some government initiative.

What could this be? The thoughts nagged at her so much that she didn't even need a second thought. She considered calling out for Daniel, or rushing out and banging on Emmeline's door, but she knew nothing either one could say would deviate her decision.

Rapidly, she typed a response.

_Mr. Fox,_

_Thank you for reaching out to me. I am interested in learning more about this position. Please let me know when and where we can meet to discuss it._

_Thanks. Again. – Jemima Allson_

She put the phone down and ran both hands along her long, dark hair. Would she meet with them today? Is it possible she would even meet Bruce Wayne? No, certainly not on the first meeting. Then she thought to the other people who would certainly be involved. Mayor Hill was mentioned, as was the District Attorney. So was the GCPD, so surely someone high-ranking would be present—perhaps the commissioner?

The possibilities all ate away at Jemima's mind as she couldn't contain her joy and her smile. She jumped up and bolted for the bathroom door, cracking it open. "Daniel! Hurry up, quick!"

A few minutes passed after the water had stopped that Daniel emerged, towel wrapped around his waist as he ruffled his damp, shaggy hair. "What's so important that you had to rush me out of my soothing shower?" he asked, his boyish grin on his face.

"I'll tell you later—I've gotta shower first." Jemima started for the bathroom door before Daniel gripped her wrist.

"Come on now, you can't just bait-and-switch me like that. What's the scoop?"

His eyes searched hers, and she finally relented. Her smile broke out as she clasped her hands together. "I just got a message from _Wayne Enterprises_. It said something about joining a government initiative, working in junction with the mayor, the DA, and the GCPD."

Daniel's eyes grew wide. "What? Really?"

"Yes!"

"Well, what did you say? Did you agree to it?"

"Of course I did!" Jemima shot back. A thought edged into her mind. "Why—don't you want me to?"

"Of course I do," Daniel replied, his grin staying put. He lowered his hands and planted them softly on her hips. "Look, Jemima—I love you. I want whatever's best for you, and if this is what you want, take it." He reached up with his right hand and cupped her cheek. "Do what you want, sweetheart. Be your own guide."

The two stood that way for several seconds before he pulled her face close, and they kissed deeply, passionately. He reached back down and pulled her body against his, hands roaming her back as she reached up, fingers running through his hair. As they let go and parted, his grin looked even more boyish—somehow.

"I love you," he huffed, out of breath.

She winked at him, turning and striding for the bathroom door. "I know."

* * *

Jemima exited from her bedroom, her form-fitting tank top and cargo pants all neatly pressed to her body. Her dark hair was as wavy as it naturally could be, tied to a long ponytail bobbing on her left hip as she scrolled through her phone. She had received another text from Lucius Fox, this one directing her to meet him at the GCPD headquarters that night, at seven o'clock sharp.

An adrenaline rush made her feel renewed, fresh for the day ahead of her. She had classes to attend at Gotham U., then she would meet Emmeline and Daniel for afternoon coffee before returning home with her roommate.

_Speak of the devil, _Jemima thought with a grin as she saw Emmeline at the kitchen counter, shelving a cereal box in the cabinet. Emmeline's smile glinted at Jemima as her shoulder-length red hair bounced, contrasting with her pinkish freckles and blue eyes.

"Well, if it isn't Ms. Important," Emmeline said with a mischievous smile. "Congratulations on your job offer!"

Jemima stood, appalled. "Did Daniel tell you?"

"Oh, yes. As he left he told me something about you getting offered an important job with the GCPD, the mayor, and the DA." Her mischievous grin arched with an eyebrow. "And _Bruce Wayne_."

Jemima rolled her eyes. Emmeline seemed to be starstruck every time the playboy was mentioned. I mean, she couldn't blame her; Wayne was attractive, but he wasn't quite Jemima's type. She couldn't help but feel the whole partying personality was just an act to cover up another, more real Bruce Wayne.

"It's not like all that. It was Wayne _Enterprises_, not the CEO himself. But . . . it still opens a lot of possibilities and doorways. Do you know what a position like this could mean for my IT career?"

"Of course I do!" Emmeline playfully socked Jemima's arm. "What'd you think, I was insinuating you wanted the job to get close to Wayne?" She threw her head to the apartment door. "You've got Daniel. He's your child's father."

Jemima slowly nodded, eyes drifting to her feet. "Yeah. You're right."

Emmeline watched Jemima closely, a cloud crossing her eyes. "Hey, you okay? You look a little blue."

Jemima quickly returned with a crisp nod. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Just nervous I guess."

Emmeline grinned. "I'd be nervous too. As you said, this is big for your career. But you'll do fine. Knock the socks off of 'em, especially the DA."

Jemima arched an eyebrow. "Why him?"

"Because I need an opening. Drop a hint that you've got a beautiful roommate who's looking to secure a foothold in the Gotham law system." She laughed. "Just kidding, just kidding. Just be you. I know you'll do great." She stepped out and embraced Jemima tightly, holding her for several seconds. "Good luck Jay."

She stepped away and made for the door. "I'll see you and Daniel for coffee at three."

As she stepped out the door, Jemima stood frozen stiff. She was hoping the tingles would wear off, but when they refused to, she sighed and made for the doorway. Thoughts continued to burn in her mind as she opened the door, locking it behind her and striding out.

All her problems and nerves concerning Daniel were nothing to do with him. She cared deeply for him. The problem was with her.

You see, she also cares deeply for Emmeline. And she wonders if she isn't in a relationship with the wrong true love.

* * *

**A/N: Here's chapter 2! You all got to meet Jemima Allson, the second member of our cast. Leave your thoughts on her and the story thus far below! The next chapter will be out soon, and it will include a glimpse into the story outside of our main cast. Thanks for reading, and for those interested, there are still 4 more SYOC slots available as of March 4. Hope you all enjoyed, and I'll see you next time!**


	4. Chapter 3 - Clyde Darby

"Come on, pal. Hand it over. _All _of it."

The two-bit thug stood, his shoulders hunched as he held the switchblade mere inches away from the suited man standing before him, sweat drenching his brow and his white dress shirt. To his side, a woman was shuddering behind him, hoping he would make a wise move—and not a stupid one.

"I-I only have a little bit of money, I swear," the man murmured, reaching for his wallet.

The thug held out his empty left hand. "Just the wallet. You pull a gun out, you're as good as dead. Your lady friend here, too."

The woman bit her lip as her eyes flicked from man to man, holding tight to her purse. She knew it would be her turn to give up her valuables next.

Her companion shakily withdrew his wallet, passing it to the thief. The scruffy man snatched it away, lightly tipping it open to get a look inside. Layers of green bills caused him to smirk and chuckle. "Man, a little to you could make another fella rich." He sniggered again before nodding to the woman. "All right, sweetheart, your turn. Hand over the purse."

The woman breathed heavily, sweat and tears mixing to cause her makeup to run. She glanced to the man, who gestured to the thief. His eyes seemed to say, _Go on, hand it over! _No, in fact they screamed it.

Her brow knit in fury that he wouldn't even stand up to the punk. But, on a second thought, could she really blame him? He wasn't armed, so it'd just be a death wish to go up against a guy that's not just bigger than him, but also packing a knife. So she let her anger go, and the purse, passing it to the armed thief.

He snatched it from her, rummaging through the contents. He grabbed her own wallet out and tossed the purse to the dirty ground of the back alley, stuffing both wallets into his jacket pocket. "You two are a real joy for someone like myself. Always willing to offer a helping hand to a guy in need." He offered a mock salute before turning tail. "Appreciate it."

He took off down the alley, without as much as a second glance at the pair he had just robbed.

* * *

The thief kept on running until he came to a stop, his sprint slowing to a jog. He let a chuckle escape his lips as he fished around in his back pocket, bringing out his own wallet, before withdrawing the two he had stolen.

"Another night, another job pulled. I'm getting pretty good at this," the very immodest thief complimented himself. He exchanged the bills from the two confiscated wallets into his own, so intent on his larceny that he failed to notice the tall, lanky figure approaching behind him.

As the man whistled a tune to himself, he dumped both empty wallets into a nearby trash bin and stuffed his own back into its proper place before a cool, southern-accented voice cut the still air. "No sudden moves, partner. You reach for anything, you'll have a slug square through your back."

The thief started to whirl before he heard the _cli-clack _of a gun cocking. "You're pushing me, mister. If you finish your little twirl-about, you're gonna be dropping to this smelly turf faster than you ever have before. Don't reckon you'll be in much of a hurry to get back up."

Now, it was the robber's turn to sweat. He had never be on the other end of a stick-up, and he had never even been on the thief's end of a robbery involving a gun. He didn't much like guns; bullets traced back too well, and were a lot noisier than simple knife. Not that he'd ever killed anyone, but if the situation ever arose—

"Reach those hands up high." The thief obliged, his hands straight up, stiff as a stick. "Don't move till I tell you to."

Footsteps plodded along the asphalt of the back alleyway as the mysterious figure stepped forward. "Your knife. Where is it?"

_How's this guy know I've gotta knife? _"Right pants pocket. Blade's not out." A thin hand patted his pocket, and out came the knife. _Never heard of a knife thief before._

"Turn around. Slowly."

The thief did so, and ventured enough to lower his hands. No objections came, so he let his arms drop to his sides as he got a look at his robber. The man had dark hair—might've been black, it was too dark to tell. His skin looked frightfully pale, and he was tall and very thin. Looked starved. His skin was stretched tight over his skull, and his gray eyes rested in sunken sockets. It looked like the man hadn't eaten or slept in weeks—maybe even months, or more.

If the appearance of the man was at all unnerving, his outfit was unusual. He wore dark blue jeans and a brown buckskin jacket, and a dark Stetson hat adorned his head, covering his short-cut hair. At his belt was a holster—looked like something out of a Western. And the gun that belonged there was in the man's hand, pointed directly at the thief's gut.

"What are you?" the thief asked. He hoped he wasn't too offensive.

Apparently he wasn't, as the man answered a question altogether _not _what the thief had asked. "Name's Darby. That's all you need to know."

The man pocketed the knife, then gestured with his Smith & Wesson revolver. "Hand over that wallet," he demanded in that thick, southern drawl.

_Now we come to the robbery, _the thief thought as he withdrew his wallet and passed it over. Darby took it, and thumbed through the bills. "I'm sure they'll be able to sort their cash out. Split the rest." Before the thief could question Darby, the tall man shifted over to the trashcan, digging out the two wallets the thief had disposed of there.

"How did you—?" the thief started, but Darby cut him off.

"I saw you ripping of that couple in the alleyway. Bad way to cap off a pricy date."

"What are you, some kinda stalker?"

"No. You might say I'm a lawman of sorts."

"Shoulda known. _Cops._" He said the last word with a venomous tone.

"Not anymore. Haven't been a cop since I left Atlantic City. Organized law enforcement's a bit too gentle for my tastes."

The way Darby spoke in such a cool way while discussing such things—it made even the thief's stomach crawl. "Too gentle? What, you think all crooks oughta be killed or something?"

"Not crooks, pal. Killers. The kind of people who murder others just for the thrill, to get their kicks. The kind who deserve to die, for stealing the life of others."

"Then you got the wrong kind of guy, man. I just steal—I don't kill. Never have."

A sarcastic grin cut across Darby's face, revealing bright teeth. They didn't seem to fit in with the whole starved, unhealthy look, but it was a start at least. "Aw, aren't you the model citizen. Look, I said murderers don't deserve to live—I didn't say everyone else was clean. You still robbed those two, and they deserve to get their money back."

The thief threw out his arms. "What are you gonna do to me then, huh? Box me up until I'm blue in the face? Call the cops? I'm sure they don't appreciate some vigilante cleaning up Gotham doing their job. You know that the Bat's off the radar, don't ya? GCPD pigs probably blew out his brains 'cuz he was cutting in on their territory. Y'know, if you ask me, I think—"

The thief's ramblings were cut off by a left hook cracking across his jaw, sending him stumbling over onto his side, catching himself with his left hand. Bad move—it skinned the flesh off of his palm, and blood started to leak out onto the cement.

"If I was looking for conversation, I wouldn't have picked you, pal." Darby holstered his gun and pocketed the wallets, gripping the thief by his collar with both hands. He hoisted the man up onto his feet. Well, more like off of them—they were dangling below, trying to find solid ground. "Gotham's a city as rotten as they come, and that's why I'm here. I've seen some pretty rough stuff in my time, and I've made it my mission to put an end to senseless killings, and Gotham seems to be as good a place as any to come to in that matter. Better than most, actually."

Darby swung the man around, slamming his back up against the brick wall. "Your first suggestion, beat you up till your blue, isn't half-bad, but I've got better things to do than tan your hide." He mustered up all the strength in his arms and threw the pathetic mugger onto the ground, and he skidded across the asphalt with a grunt of pain.

The tall, lanky, self-proclaimed lawman huffed a breath as he pointed at the thief. "Take a word of advice: get a respectable job and earn an honest living." Darby reached into his pocket and withdrew the man's knife and wallet. He tossed the knife into the garbage bin, and after he withdrew all the cash and whatever cards belonged to the robbed couple from the thief's wallet, he tossed it in too. As he stuffed the cash into his pocket, he tipped his hat with an air of southern charm before he turned and stomped off down the alley.

Once he had disappeared from view, the thief got to his feet and went to the trash bin. He withdrew his wallet and looked inside, expecting it to be picked dry. He was a bit surprised, though, to see a twenty dollar bill sitting inside. He glanced up, his bruised and bloodied face twisted in confusion at the man's actions. Surely he hadn't missed the twenty—was it some show of good will? The thief stuffed the wallet into his pocket and eyed his knife, then reached for it.

Halfway there, he paused and stared at his frozen hand and the glinting knife before he made his decision. Withdrawing his hand from the can, the man turned, stuffed his empty hands into his pockets, and made his way down the dark and lonely alley.

* * *

He gave his name as Darby, but that was just his surname. His full name was Clyde August Darby, but he mostly went by either just Cly around those he considered friends, or Darby to those who either weren't friends or were merely business acquaintances.

Cly moved at a brisk pace. Not too fast to appear out of the ordinary, but not so slow as to attract any unwanted attention from a mugger. Sure, he had handled the two-bit punk who robbed the couple with ease, but that was because he caught him off-edge and kind of scared him. Truth be told, Cly wasn't too thrilled about fighting hand-to-hand. He'd rather fight from a distance, taking shots with either his Smith & Wesson or his Glock.

He might've come off a bit harsh to the thief, but it was his personality—on business. And his business was just what he said: hunting down killers and bringing them to justice, before their Maker.

It all began when Cly was nine years old. He grew up in Atlantic City, living a pleasant life with his older brothers Joseph and Darren, his younger sister Amelia, and his parents. His father was a traveling salesman, and whenever he was around, he was a loving, cheerful dad. His mom was a witty woman, and his childhood was an idyllic life that resembled the picture-perfect life of peace everyone desired.

Until, of course, he was nine.

Clyde, Joseph, Darren, and Amelia were all playing hide and seek—one of their favorite pastimes. Clyde was it, and he was searching for his siblings when he pulled back the brush and found a startling, nightmarish scene: a woman's corpse, already smelling and rotting away. The worst thing wasn't the mottled skin of the dead woman, or even the torn threat clotted with blood. It was the eyes—those cold, emotionless orbs, staring deep into Clyde's soul. He could almost read the pleas for rescue from whatever horror had killed her.

From that moment on, Cly was a changed boy. He had grown up in an innocent world, where the worst of crimes was relegated only to fictional TV shows. No such dark crimes were common knowledge to him, and it ruined his life, putting it bluntly. Such a grotesque revelation caused dark thoughts to churn in Cly's mind. Not that they were seeking something wrong: he wanted retribution for the lives of innocents who were murdered while on the precipice of life. But it wasn't right for one to fantasize of hunting down any human being and slaughtering them, even if they were a killer.

The first such fantasy came when woman's killer himself was apprehended. The woman, Lilah Martin, was a twenty-something year old who was abducted and murdered by a serial killer operating in the area. He stowed her corpse in the lakeside park where Cly generally played with his siblings, and that led to Cly's discovery of her. He began to dream of himself older, packing a gun and finding the killer before he could take another victim's life. Killing him with as much heartless, cold emotion as he had killed Lilah and the others.

He knew it was wrong initially, and what hurt him worse was his change in attitude. He yelled at his mother, his sister, and his brothers, angry at the world for its emptiness and decay. It bothered him, because he knew they weren't responsible. All the same, he still did it.

When he was old enough, Cly enrolled in the police academy and became a cop. He was a crack shot, having practiced with pistols and rifles throughout his teenage years. He was ready to finally have a shot—literally—at a killer.

But the time never came. Either pure coincidence or some divine intervention disbarred Cly from ever encountering a killer. Most would've been glad to have such a fate, but not one who had a desire to put down so many barbaric killers. Disgusted at the police force's desire to go about enforcing the law in a manner they deemed justified, Cly hung up his badge and packed up his guns—both his standard-issue Glock and his personal Smith & Wesson revolver—and hitchhiked across America.

He dreamt of finding his own personal Wild West, where he could hitch up his six-shooter and adorn his hat, finding and stopping as many killers as he could. He went out of his way to go to towns facing such an epidemic, but he never could fulfill his vocation. As he entered his thirties, Cly was a broken, bitter man—he had not fulfilled his life's wish, to kill a single dirty, rotten murderer.

Cly eventually stole a tan sedan from a rental service and booked it across America, his hopes drawing to a close. He made a resolution to find and kill his first murderer before he turned thirty-five. If not, then he'd end it all.

When he turned thirty-four, Cly was torn to shreds. He felt worthless and useless; he still hadn't completed his mission. In a lonely motel room, Cly drew his revolver and nearly blew his brains out . . . until he caught wind of a news broadcast about a man dressed as a bat in a city called Gotham, capturing bad guys the police weren't able to nab. Beating them to a pulp and bringing justice to such a lawless city.

Cly's vanity, a trait he had possessed since his turn in personality, flared up. "The Batman can capture all the crooks he wants, but I'll one-up him. I've got a mission, and I'm gonna do what the Bat's afraid to. I'm gonna find a murderer and end 'em."

So it was decided, and here he was. Cly, at thirty-four years old, was new to Gotham, and he was already liking it. Already in his few weeks there he had done better than he had in most other towns or cities he had frequented in his checkered past. All the killers on the loose would bring Cly to his mission's close—they just had to.

Cly continued walking down the alleys. He had seen the young woman comforting her date after they had been robbed, right before he took off after the perpetrator. He knew they were in this area, so he'd find them and do the right thing. After all, southern charm had its requirements.

Cly walked, his boots plodding on the cement until he heard soft voices. "Look, Jack, it's okay—I've told you that time after time."

"I know, Clarissa, but I just can't feel as if I should've done more to stop him. If I'd have just went for his knife, then I might've—"

"You might've wound up dead is what you might've had, partner." Cly laid his southern accent on extra thick. Not that it was all for show, but he just made it more evident where his roots were. Made a good impression the first time around. As mentioned, he does possess a modest amount of vanity.

"If you went for that slicer's blade, he might've killed you." The thought made Cly consider his mission would've been completed tonight, but he pushed it aside. His main goal was to protect the lives of innocents; it just got muddled a bit by the whole vocation he was pursuing. "Your girlfriend's right; you did what was right."

"How do you know?" the man asked, his sweat subsiding as he made a show of might. The woman rolled her eyes.

"I saw it going down, from the end of the alley."

"You saw it?! Why didn't you help, or call the cops?" He eyed Cly's gun. "You've obviously got the means to stop him."

"Just keep your shirt on, pal, and let a fella finish talking." Cly reached into his pocket, and withdrew the two wallets. "Your stolen goods, plus a little extra." He tossed the man his wallet and carefully placed the woman's in her outstretched hand. With a dip of his hat's brim, a wink, and the southern kindness, he added, "Ma'am."

The woman gave a sheepish grin and a modest "thank you" as she returned her wallet to her purse. The man caught sight of this and looked from her to Cly before he flicked open his wallet. "There's no money in here," he demanded, and Cly raised a hand.

"Calm down, man." He withdrew the wad of cash from his pocket, as well as the cards. "It's a little too late for me to do the work here. You two can sort it out I trust." As he placed the money and cards in the man's hand, and looked him in the eye. "Next time you're taking this little lady on a date, I suggest not taking the back alleys. And if you ever are crossed by a punk with a knife, _don't _face him—okay?"

Slightly annoyed, the man nodded. "Okay." He finally smiled and offered his hand, and Cly took it. "Thanks. I really mean it."

Cly returned the smile. "Don't mention it." Looking to the woman, he nodded back and tugged on his hat again. "G'night, miss."

He turned and walked away, a day's work done. A criminal stopped and a good deed done. But no killer. Not yet, anyway. Cly sighed, glancing down the street before he turned to the left. He moved along and looked over his shoulder. When he turned back, there was a man standing before him, about eight feet away. The man was big—not just tall, but he had quite a belly too.

Cly eyed the man warily. He hadn't been there a moment before, Cly was sure of that. _What's going on here?_

Slowly, Cly stepped forward cautiously. The big man reached to his mouth and puffed on a cigar, the smoke twisting and curling over his head, filling the dark street with a foglike smoke. He cleared his throat before speaking in a deep, husky voice. "Clyde Darby?"

Cly stopped cold. His hand wavered over his Smith & Wesson, uncertain of what lie before him. Who was this guy? "Yeah. I'm Clyde Darby." All hints of the southern friendliness he had shown the robbed couple was out the friend. It was all stone-cold business now.

The man sucked in a breath of fresh air as he flicked his cigar butt on the asphalt, grinding it out with the heel of his shoe. He crossed his arms across his broad chest, resting them on his likewise broad gut. "I thought so. The name's Harvey Bullock, detective of the GCPD. Commissioner Gordon sent me to find you."

Cly took a careful look at the big man, trying to place him. He had been to the GCPD precinct a couple of times, where he had met Gordon. He was a good man, one of the last shining spots in Gotham's police force. But, like most cops, Cly felt that he was too lenient and gentle with certain criminals. He had secretly wished he was in Gordon's shoes, but there was no chance of that happening. He did slightly recognize Bullock, having spotted him at a desk in the department. The man didn't go out much for impressive looks, that much was for sure—his face sported a week's beard growth on his face, and his hair was unkempt beneath his gray hat. His tie wasn't on straight, and his shirt collar was loosened. It looked like he just threw his clothes on once he woke up.

He might have.

"What's Gordon after me for?" Cly asked. He hadn't done anything jail-worthy—unless somehow the stolen rental car had somehow been traced back to him.

Bullock quickly tampered Cly's fears. "Gordon did some digging in your past. Knows that you quit being a cop because you felt the law was too weak when handling killers." A grin split his uneven lips. "He felt you'd be a good fit for this little club he's putting together."

Cly smirked. "Look, I appreciate the commissioner's interest in inviting me to his little club, but I'm not necessarily the club type."

"Not a traditional club, pal. Some type of 'movement,' he called it. Government-funded. It's made to handle the crime families of Gotham."

Now _that _was what Cly liked to hear. "Crime families—like Falcone?" Bullock nodded a confirmation. Cly's interest was piqued. "Did he have some meeting planned? I might be interested."

Bullock's grin didn't fade. "We thought you might be. Yeah, all the big-wigs have a meeting set up at GCPD HQ tomorrow night. Seven o'clock. Just come in the front doors and tell the desk officer that you came for the government operation."

Cly nodded as Bullock reached in his pocket and forked out a toothpick, which he used to prod around his teeth with. "Well, that's about it. The commissioner just wanted you to know about the invite." With that goodbye, Bullock turned tail and strode into the night, stopping near a dark car parked on the roadway. Bullock climbed into the passenger seat and slammed the door as the car peeled off.

Cly watched the car leave before turning and continuing down the street. Could it be that he might finally fulfill his vendetta, after twenty-five years? He might finally find and kill his first murderer? Surely he'd come up against some Falcone thug who had killed before and would put him down.

The grin at the prospect of finally fulfilling his wish never left Cly's face the whole time he made his way down the street to the alley where his tan sedan rested. As Cly ducked inside and laid down for his night's rest, he had, for the first time in a good while, hope that he might finally succeed at his life's goal.

* * *

Dan Watts stumbled along down the side road near the Gotham Docks. The alcohol had already caused him enough trouble, and now he couldn't even walk straight. His wife had booted him from the house, claimed he was making life difficult for her and their kids—but could he really blame her? He felt that he was even making his own life difficult.

After walking for what seemed like the whole day, Dan dropped onto his backside on the bench overlooking Gotham's piers, where ships were moored for the night. Sounds of men unloading shipments of goods, their yells and laughter filling the air, disrupted the peaceful backdrop of the water sloshing in the great body before him.

Grunting, Dan pulled the bottle from his pocket and examined the label. He reached for the cork to pull it free before he decided against it. He'd already had enough, and where had it gotten him? He was drinking in hopes of delivering himself from the poor state of mind he was in after he was fired, but look where he had elevated himself to.

_No, no, no. Not anymore. I've done drank myself in a deep hole—deeper than I ever wanted. _Dan looked at the swishing waters and decided his objective. He tipped the bottle back and flung it far into the churning waters and listened to the _splunk _it made as it clapped against the waves. He'd sleep off what he'd drank that night and go to his brother's place, wash up to be presentable. Then he'd go back home and swear off drinking to his wife, make it up to her and the kids.

Yeah. That's what he'd to. Swear off the booze, turn his life around. Go out and find a job. He wanted to become something his kids could be proud of. A dad working for his family so they could have the things he only could dream of when he was in their place.

The very thought caused Dan to smile and swell up inside, his good thoughts echoing inside. Dan slowly curled up on the bench and tucked his jacket around him to be snug and warm. "Tomorrow. I'll do it all tomorrow."

Then a rattling noise down the street caused Dan to open one eye, then the other. He heard something leathery padding down the road, and in curiosity he sat up, glancing down the street. There was some fluttering noise, but in the street . . . nothing.

Dan scratched his tousled graying hair, puzzled. He then thought of the fluttering noise. It sounded like . . . wings of some kind. Slowly, wondering if he could've possibly heard what he thought he did, Dan lifted his gaze up into the sky. Then he saw it.

Perched on the lamppost above him, gazing down with two thin, yellow, slits of eyes. They were feral in appearance, tufts of air sprouting from each like eyebrows. The skin was leathery, and two large ears burst from each side of the thing's head. From the mouth ejected long, sharp fangs.

And from the things arms grew two large, fleshy wings. Two horrid, ghastly wings, jutting from the thing's awful, fur-covered torso. The strangest thing that caused the creature to even remotely resemble a human was the pair of torn jeans rising from its ankles up to its waist, but that was it. The feet and hands were both pairs of clawed appendages, gripping tightly to the lamppost beneath the massive thing.

Dan felt vomit rising to his throat. What he saw was so horrifying it _had _to be the liquor. It just had to. Slowly, shaking, he bent his head down, hoping he could push such nightmarish thoughts from his mind. As he closed his eyes, he heard the fluttering noise again, and then silence.

Willing himself to look back, Dan glanced up, and saw the massive creature was gone. It was no longer on the lamppost. Dan gave a sigh of relief and uttered a silent prayer. "All I need right now is to have a nightmare of some giant monster. That's all I need."

Dan couldn't help but laugh at himself as he laid back down, and then his eyes were filled again. Standing on the other side of the bench was the hulking thing, its yellow eyes staring deep within him again. Dan tried to get up, run or do something, but before he could do so, the creature hissed and screeched loudly, plunging forward, jaws snapping back and fangs glistening in the moonlight as Dan screamed and then—

Silence. Dead silence, aside from the awful gnashing of teeth, and then a flutter of wings.

* * *

**A/N: Here's Chapter 3! You all are now introduced to our third party member, Clyde Darby. What do you think? You also got to meet a certain bat creature who might not be as much of a hoax as Gotham thinks. . . Leave your thoughts on the new chapter in the reviews! I hope you all enjoyed it, and I'll see you all next time.**


	5. Chapter 4 - Nansi Kuwes

**Chapter 4 - "Nansi Kuwes"**

Nansi Kuwes crawled from atop her Ducati Scrambler, letting out a deep huff as she did so. Smoothing down her loose-fitting hoodie, Nansi looked about from beneath the gray hood over her head. No one was outside, which wasn't a surprise. The neighborhood where Nansi lived, in Gotham's Chinatown, wasn't necessarily a friendly place. The neighbors didn't wave and have idle chit-chat, and Nansi wasn't necessarily perturbed by it.

Better no talk than bad talk.

At nineteen, Nansi was already on her own. She had ran away from her parents' house in Maine when she sixteen, due to problems unavoidable—not her fault, nor her parents'. Just a little bit of coincidence, a lot of bad luck.

Nansi ambled towards her apartment door, fiddling with her key as she pushed it into the lock and twisted the door open. Pushing it aside, she walked in, toting a plastic bag of groceries with her. As she pushed the door back shut, she locked it and moved to the kitchen counter. She flicked on the light and dropped the bag on the counter, emptying it out.

As she removed the nice, juicy, thick-cut steak from the bag, Nansi's mouth literally began to water. She had had steak many times before, and when scanning the aisles for something to eat, this had jumped out at her. Nansi rummaged through the rest of the bag and withdrew some spices; she always loved to try and shake up the flavor of her meal whenever possible. It was a bit of a pastime with her—try as many different foods as possible, and let the good ones stick with you.

Nansi quickly went about the arrangements to prepare the steak for cooking, and once she got the stove to heat, she turned away and put aside the other things she had bought at the store. A carton of milk, some eggs, and some bacon—her breakfast for the next few days. Maybe lunch or dinner, if they jumped out at her for one of those meals.

Nansi tossed the empty bag into the nearby trashcan, and she let out a refreshed breath of air. Food was cooking, everything else was put in its place—and she was in the privacy of her own apartment. Reaching up, Nansi withdrew the hood back from her head, revealing the dark brown hair she kept in a messy pixie cut . . . and something else.

Two dark brown coyote ears wide set upon her head, their light brown tips peeking through her locks of hair. Nansi ruffled her air and caught sight of herself in the cracked mirror on the kitchen wall. Taking in her high cheekbones and thick eyelashes, Nansi sheepishly smiled and scratched at the back of her head. She was attractive, even by human standards. If you overlooked the canine aspects, that is.

The ears were the primary reason behind Nansi's decision to wear a hoodie most of the time, as she didn't want to frighten people off with such an inhuman appearance. Aside from the ears, there was nothing noticeable to differentiate her from a regular teenage girl. On the outside, at least. Within, Nansi was developed with the senses of a coyote, a characteristic she had possessed since she was thirteen. A year later she began to adopt a more coyote-like appearance, with the ears and a thin layer of dark brown fuzz-like fur that coated her body. This was often able to be hidden from public eye, however, beneath Nansi's clothes.

The steak began to smell, the soothing aroma filling Nansi's nostrils. She licked her lips, revealing two rows of pointed teeth. When she did open her mouth to strangers, they often assumed the points were a result of some defect that altered the appearance of the teeth. If they only knew it wasn't just her teeth that were different. . . .

Nansi reached over to the steak and flicked off the stove, moving the pan to a place where it could cool. Not _too _cool, mind you; she liked her food warm. Nansi reached over the old, beat-up radio on the kitchen counter and flicked it on. Static buzzed before the feminine voice of a news reporter filled the air.

"Vicki Vale here, with Channel Five News. We are live at City Hall, where Mayor Hamilton Hill has just finished delivering an address speaking on the rash of crime that has affected Gotham in recent days. The mayor said that Gotham police is hard at work to distill any growing threats from the major crime families, but in an unusual move he refused to name any potential threats to the public, causing even greater uproar in a time when the people are fed up with noncommittal answers.

"Even more puzzling than the mayor's refusal to name suspects, however, is the disappearance of the vigilante known as the Batman. Today marks a week to the day after the masked hero of Gotham made his last appearance to take down a mobster. We have reached out to both the mayor's office and the GCPD, to no avail. Until we have any more news concerning either of these critical topics in Gotham City, stay tuned to Channel Five News for the latest in the city. This has been—"

Nansi turned away, her interest dwindling as the news broadcast ended. She had turned on the radio in hopes of hearing any news about the Batman's disappearance; he was sort of an idol to her, standing up to fight crime in a city where it got away unpunished a great amount of the time, as evidenced by the mayor's lack of a quick response to the growing chaos in the city's seedy underworld.

As she tipped the seasoning container in the air, Nansi salted the steak with the spicy-smelling flavoring as she sucked the aroma through her nose. She almost drooled at the soothing smell the meat elicited, but she didn't dare. She'd be able to eat it soon enough.

It had been a little under a year since Batman had first begun to appear in Gotham. Nansi had been a resident in the city for only a month or two when he first started to clean up crime. Sure, Gotham was in worse shape now than it was then, but there were a lot of people whose doors that could be laid at—such as Mayor Hill's, Nansi thought with disgust.

She despised the man. Yeah, he gave his speeches to try and soothe public nerves, but she didn't buy his goody-two-shoes attitude, not one bit. If he really meant it, why hadn't he done anything concrete? The whole crime family incident was a clear indicator of that. Everyone knew Carmine Falcone was the prime suspect, Nansi deduced. So why wouldn't Hill just declare Falcone a public threat and send all the forces GCPD could muster and take him down?

"Probably 'cuz all of the GCPD is corrupt," Nansi said to herself with a snort. She wasn't too far off from the truth; a good chunk of the Gotham police force was either bought off by one of the crime families, or simply looked out for themselves, taking the job for its benefits and refusing to step in harm's way.

There were a few good cops though, Nansi would admit that much. The commissioner, James Gordon, was proof enough of that. Nansi had run into him once before, when she helped a mother and her young daughter when they were nearly the victims of a robber. Nansi had been speeding home on her Scrambler when she saw the glint of a firearm in one of the Chinatown alleys.

Stowing her bike in a shady street, Nansi had went back and saw a scruffy-looking guy holding the woman and her little girl at gunpoint. Acting before thinking, really, Nansi had leapt out and, with lightning-fast reflexes, swatted out with a hand and clawed the man's gun into the shadows.

Thinking back to the moment, Nansi glanced down to the weapons in question. Rather than fingernails, small claws came from her fingertips. They looked closer to nails than claws, yes, but they were thinner and more pointed and sharp, like claws. Nansi had drawn blood and used her other clawed hand to scratch the man's face. Before he knew what had happened, she had grabbed him by the arm and threw him on his face. Somehow, when she had adopted the coyote senses and appearance, Nansi had also gained some superhuman abilities, among them enhanced speed and strength. In addition, she possesses great eyesight and tracking abilities, which help boost her whenever she goes into anthro-coyote, where she adopts an almost fully canine appearance and becomes a nearly unstoppable force, tearing through flesh and cloth with her enhanced claws and jaws.

Nansi, thinking of her strong teeth, rubbed her jaw tenderly. She had never really had the heart to attack someone with her teeth; it made her feel almost animal to do so. Despite her quirks, like the canine appearance and senses, Nansi really, deep down inside, wanted to be a regular person. Not some mutated canine creature, but a regular, teenage girl. Since she had run away from home, she hadn't had the regular things a teenager should experience. All her friends and family were still back home. The only close friend she kept in touch with was Jackie Sapiel, a girl with sandy blonde curls who had been Nansi's friend since preschool. She was the in-between for Nansi and her family and other friends, the ones she had stuck with for her early years.

She didn't have the heart to contact them all personally, just Jackie. As her best friend, Jackie watched her back—and she wasn't at all fazed, seemingly, by the coyote appearance and senses.

As Nansi devoured her steak without much more than a few breaths of fresh air, she licked the grease and gristle off her fingertips and let out a satisfied moan. "That was delicious, if I do say so myself," she said to herself as she put the dishes away.

Nansi threw off her hoodie and tugged her shirt up, and looked at herself in the mirror. Almost every inch of her body was covered in the brown fur that formed a thin layer of fuzz over her body. Staring in utter silence, Nansi examined herself closely. The body no one had seen outside of her and her family. Who could blame her? Why would she want anyone to know that beneath her clothes was fur?

Nansi undressed and went to her bedroom, slipping on a pair of shorts and buttoning up a red plaid dress shirt, so it would cover all the fur well enough. As she curled up on her couch and reached for the TV remote, her phone buzzed. Curious at who might be texting her, she bent over and grabbed the phone, peering at the notification. She thought it might've been Jackie, relaying some news. They spoke a couple times a week, maybe every other day.

But it wasn't Jackie.

The message was from . . . the GCPD?

Eyes narrowed as Nansi opened the text and read it. The message seemed unreal—could it really be meant for her?

Nansi read it fully, and then reread. Then she reread it again. She almost read it a fourth time when she rubbed her temples. Could this really be happening?

The message was from the GCPD all right, Commissioner Gordon himself. He introduced himself and explained that he remembered her from their run-in the night she had helped the mother and her daughter. He also admitted to doing some checking up on her after the mother mentioned that she had moved with so fast of reflexes. He said that he didn't have any concrete details, but by way of reasoning, he said that he knew she was special, and that night had proved it.

Nansi breathed softly, still overwhelmed by the message. And then she reread the part that intrigued her the most.

_"Through funding provided by several key Gotham investors, the federal government has authorized an initiative to fight the crime families of Gotham and try to make the city a safer place in the Batman's absence. If you are interested, please let me know. If you are, we will be meeting tomorrow night at seven p.m. to discuss the details. Come to GCPD headquarters if you are interested and inform the desk of who you are, and you will be directed to a place where you can learn more about the initiative."_

Below, in a separate paragraph, was a P.S. with a note that had caught Nansi's eye.

_"Listen, kid; I know that whatever you've got, it's something special. Something that can be used to stop the stuff that's going on in Gotham. Now, I won't say your quite the Batman's level—I don't know if anyone is—but you've got a similar style. Trust me on that."_

Thoughts screamed through Nansi's mind. _If I take this job and help stop the crime families, then I'll prove that I'm _not _a monster. I'd be a . . . a hero. _The thought caused a flicker of a smile to appear on Nansi's mouth. Without a second thought, she typed in her response.

_"I'll be there tomorrow at seven." _Without wasting a moment, she quickly tapped "send."

* * *

**A/N: Here's chapter 4, the introduction to Nansi Kuwes. A more power-centric character, Nansi possesses a few superhuman abilities all-her own that can be quite an asset to the Titan Movement. What'd you guys think of the new chapter and character? Leave your thoughts in the reviews, and let me know how you like the story thus far! The next chapter will be released soon. Thanks for reading!**


	6. Chapter 5 - John Bridgeman

**Chapter 5 - "John Bridgeman"**

Johnathan Bridgeman huffed deeply, a thin vapor escaping his lips as he flipped through the channels on his TV. As usual, nothing exceedingly interesting caught his interest. Cop shows? He could walk down the street and find an actual police incident going on in Gotham City. Something fantasy or sci-fi? A grin cracked his lips. _Please._

Turning off the TV and climbing to his feet, John rose up to his five-nine height, trying to feel impressively taller than everyone else in his presence. Not too hard, since no one else was in the room.

John ruffled the long brown hair running down his neck. What to do, what to do . . . he didn't have to report to work at the karate studio for another three hours, so that was off the books. Unless he wanted to get in early, warm up, maybe help a few of the kids there seeking extra training to get in their trainers' good graces.

As John moved towards the kitchen of his modest, one-bedroom apartment, he gripped a small glass and filled it with water from the spicket and turned to gulp it down. When he turned, John heard the water drip behind him. Groaning, he turned and shot an icy glare at the dripping spicket. It must've paid off, because with the sharp glance, a water droplet froze mid-drop and covered the bottom of the spicket, until it began to slide down and crash into the bottom of the sink.

John grinned as he made his way to the bookshelf. You see, John Bridgeman was a Cryomancer—he could summon ice to help him in any incident. It worked when you were in a jam and needed any solid object; picture it in your hand, and there it appears, albeit made of ice. Yes, the tools tended to be a bit weak, but if you were just careful, you could get the job done.

One glance at John would cause most people to assume him to be a young guy, about twenty-one, just making a living in Gotham. A look beneath the surface revealed a lot more, however.

It all started back in 1754—well, before then, technically. An ancient dragon god, a deity named Kuaion, would choose one mortal every one hundred years to possess ice powers. In the 1700s, his choice was the son of an Irish couple, the Bridgemans, and young John was blessed with these powers. The only noticeable abnormality of the young child was an icy blue dragon tattoo on his back and right pec. Other than that, he looked just like any starry-eyed, bright-futured Irish boy.

In such a restless age, when the more supernatural elements of the world weren't as known as they were in the modern age, the Bridgemans feared for their child's life if he were found to have such exquisite powers as summoning ice. They quickly journeyed to Newfoundland, a town called Poppystow, where they settled down and eventually, eight years later, had another child, a girl named Susan. All was well, and John never used his powers.

Then, when John was eleven, he was playing in the woods with a few friends when a tree fell. A branch splintered through one of his friend's legs, drawing a steady flow of blood. All of the boys were in shock and fear at the sight, and John reacted naturally—calling upon his ice powers, he froze the wound and the boy soon received proper medical help and was able to make a recovery.

Somehow, a man living in the town had witnessed the incident and had a good knowledge about not just John's powers, but his background. The man seemed to be nice enough, but it just was a little creepy, some stranger knowing such details about a young boy. John's parents warned him to stray away from the stranger.

But things couldn't be helped. When he turned fifteen, John went to collect firewood and was confronted by the stranger. The name he had gone by was revealed to be an alias, and the man gave his true name—Ra's Al Ghul. He told his story to John, informing him that he was the member of something he called the League—what it was specifically, he never clarified. He just said that he needed young warriors with powers like John to join.

John refused; he wanted to live a regular life with his family and friends. They were simple people, and he wanted nothing to do with his powers. Yes, he'd use them if necessary, like he had in the woods, but he didn't want to make a practice of it.

Al Ghul had been quick to anger at the boy's rejection. He quickly stirred up rumors in the town that witchcraft was afoot, and the Bridgemans were the center of it. The enraged townspeople flocked and captured John's parents and his sister. Some of the more perceptive townsfolk fought against their actions, and they reminded the angry citizens that the Bridgemans were good, Christian members of their community. But no amount of talk would stop them, and before anyone knew what was happening, the three were burned at the stake as witches.

John, full of sorrow, froze the first few townspeople who had come near him, seeking to murder him as well. He ran to a cave to hide, but he was trapped by Ra's. John attempted to freeze him so he could escape, but the cause of all of John's grief redirected the blast, freezing John with ice instead. Fifteen years later, an earthquake swallowed up the town and the frozen boy, where they were lost for ages.

In the modern day, a mysterious woman named Lady Shiva heard of the entire incident concerning John Bridgeman and Poppystow. She went to the location of the engulfed city and, after two years of excavation, found the frozen John. After freeing him from ice, John revealed that he had been frozen by Ra's Al Ghul. Shiva offered him an opportunity at payback against Al Ghul, but he refused, just wanting a normal life still. Shiva revealed that Al Ghul wanted nothing more but to control the world for himself, and John realized that he needed to do all he could to stop his greatest foe.

Shiva trained John to control his powers and fight using martial arts through harsh training—which paid off for John in his work at the karate studio. When he was nineteen, though, John learned that Shiva had once been part of the League with Ra's. Enraged at her deception, he left her and decided he would take Ra's on his own.

Two years had passed until the present day. John now was well over two hundred years old, but he still retained the appearance, body, and skillset of a twenty-one-year-old. Armed with a passion to stop crime—especially Al Ghul—John took the name Tundra and vowed to fight evildoers. As he worked to hone his skills, John heard wind that the League had been spotted near Gotham. John knew of Gotham's reputation as a haven for crime, so he went there. If he couldn't find Ra's, he at least could put a dent in the local crime trouble.

So, with a second look, John Bridgeman wasn't your typical twenty-one-year-old. He held a colored past beneath his regular-looking appearance.

So far John hadn't been too involved in the crime-fighting scene. Some shrouded, mysterious vigilante known as Batman seemed to keep it in check, but the crime families of Gotham were stirring up trouble. John considered stepping in a few times, but he had never felt it was the right time. The only time he had ever stepped out to fight crime was to pin a fleeing robber from a convenience store against a brick wall. But no one had seen him, and he liked it that way. No sense in making it public there was a guy stalking the streets with ice powers—especially when an icy vapor coming from your mouth. He tended to wear a mask when he could, but on most occasions would simply not open his mouth too often or hope that people who saw him figured nothing of the vapor.

John placed the glass on the kitchen counter and grabbed the backpack he used to keep a couple of things for the karate studio in. As he slung it over his back, he felt his cell phone buzz in his pocket. He grimaced; while he still looked young, John was still having a bit of trouble getting accustomed to the technology of the modern age. Having spent fifteen years in the 1700s and then being thrust into the twenty-first century, it was a whole new experience for him.

As he slipped the phone out, John skimmed the words and his brow knit in confusion. It was directed from the Gotham City Police Department. They couldn't possibly want him for anything. . . .

John read the message and was shocked at the words. Apparently he _hadn't _been as inconspicuous as he thought he was. Clearly evident from the message, he had been noticed for using the ice powers in nabbing the runaway thief. The message stated that security cameras were used, but he had never been tracked down because it had been assumed that a man not wanting public recognition for stopping a robber wouldn't want to be sought out by the police.

Until now, that is. The message mentioned something about an initiative to fight against the crime families, and they had sought him out, because the GCPD needed all the skilled fighters they could get to fight against the growing threat of the crime families. John felt a smile creeping on his face. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for. Not only would he be stopping criminals, but he'd also get into Gotham police business, and he might hear something concerning Ra's.

Quickly, John typed the message of acceptance into his phone before having to erase it and fix the errors he had made. After he made the corrections, he had to fix the errors a second time before it was ready to be sent. Tapping the "send" key, John huffed, the icy vapor clinging around his mouth. "Some smartphone you are," he grumbled in his thick Irish accent as he shoved the phone into his pocket and moved out the door.

* * *

Councilman Arthur Reeves adjusted the tie around his neck as Mayor Hamilton Hill spoke at the gathering of men behind him. "With the disappearance of the Batman, we have more of a solution than a problem," Hill was saying. "We no longer have a looney guy running around the streets wearing a cape and a bat mask."

Commissioner James Gordon, arms crossed across his chest, snapped back quickly. "Why don't you mention the even greater problem we have, Mayor? With Batman gone, there's no one on the streets fighting Falcone's punks, and there's a lot more crime going on around Gotham."

Hill's face quickly flushed and he glanced about. The aged man removed his glasses and ran a hand across his face. "Look, Jim, I know that you and the Batman are on good terms and he _has _helped us take down some criminals, but look at the results: Gotham is in the worst shape it's ever been in."

"What the mayor is so eloquently _avoiding _to say, Commissioner," Reeves spoke up, finished with checking himself out in the mayor's mirror, "is that he thinks Batfreak isn't putting as much of a dent into the crime scene as you'd like to believe."

Reeves turned, flashing the grin he had practiced oh-so-often. Gordon withheld an exaggerated gag at the man. He couldn't stand Reeves; the man was too pompous and too high on himself. Hill, on the other hand, was a tough man to peg: Gordon knew from working with him that he did have Gotham's best interests at heart, but why was he so apt to discount Batman as an ally and so quick to refuse to name Falcone as a key threat to the city?

"Listen up, Reeves. Batman's done better for this city than anyone in this room has done." He glanced to Hill to make sure the mayor knew he was part of his addressal. "I'm not gonna sugarcoat any of this. Gotham is in poor straits, and a large part of the blame can be laid at the GCPD's feet. There's a good amount of corrupt cops in our ranks, but there's no way we can root out every corrupted man or woman in our organization." He eyed both men. Hill seemed to mull over the commissioner's words, but Reeves was flashing his most bored look, practically begging "When will this be over?"

He wasn't getting off that easily. "I know that you aren't too keen on my idea to form a movement to combat Gotham's growing criminal element. But do know that the people I have chosen have the skills we need to fight the crime wave that is flowing through our city."

He sighed. "I know you're too young to remember, Councilman, but Gotham hasn't always been a stink-hole of crime. Mayor Hill himself can attest that the city used to be respectable back when he first got into politics, and when I first entered the GCPD. There were good cops and people working to make Gotham better. Now, many offices are filled with people who'd rather make themselves look good for the cameras and ward off any controversial questions."

Apparently Reeves wasn't fazed by Gordon's speech. "All nice and good, Commissioner, but I'm just a little cautious about turning the safety of our city to the hands of a group of vigilantes and weirdos."

Gordon eyed the councilman and a grin lit up his face. "Better than being in the hands of a crime family and corrupt politicians, isn't it?"

Reeves swallowed hard and kept his politician's smile, but his eyes said all that his mouth wouldn't. His speech done, Gordon nodded to Hill. "We're in the process of contacting the members of the initiative, Mayor. I'll let you know when we've finished."

Hill nodded as Gordon turned and exited his office. With a snort, Reeves turned back to the mayor's mirror and made sure there wasn't a hair out of place before he turned and exited with a swagger.

* * *

**A/N: Here's chapter 5! You all got to meet Johnathan Bridgeman, aka Tundra. What did you think of the chapter and the new character? I also added a bit more to give you all a look into the political atmosphere of Gotham. Please leave your reviews and let me know how you enjoyed the latest chapter! Be back soon.**


	7. Chapter 6 - Aria Saint-Claire

**Chapter 6 - "Aria Saint-Claire"**

A loud, creaking noise forced Aria Saint-Claire to awaken with a start. Rubbing her eyes, the twelve-year-old girl glanced around. Nothing in her room seemed out of place. Yawning deeply, Aria pushed the caramel-colored curls from her eyes and went to lay back down before she heard a noise again.

This time, it was clear where the noise came from. The bedroom right next to hers; her brother Zach's. Aria climbed from her bed and crept to her window, gazing out into the moonlit night. Then she was it; Zach, climbing from his bedroom window, dropped to the ground and began to book it down the street.

Aria narrowed her eyes, confused at what he was doing. At eighteen, Zach had been their mother Helena's pride and joy. He was brilliant, and that wasn't just Aria's bias speaking. He was an excelling pupil in the piano, the field he wanted to pursue once he entered college. But Helena wanted nothing of it. She hoped that her son would pursue a career much like she herself had possessed before settling down as a housewife, be it a lawyer, doctor, or businessman. Zach, however, knew what he wanted to do: play the piano.

Aria and Zach's father, Spencer, was encouraging of his son's artistic aspirations, which had forced a sort of wedge into the family. Helena's overbearing desire for Zach to fulfill _her _wishes had been plaguing Zach for ages, Aria knew. But neither spoke a word to their father, even when the disagreements escalated to full-blown screaming and shouting matches.

That night, Spencer was away—working the late shift as coroner, apparently some mugging that had occurred and taken the lives of two people. Aria knew that Zach had spoken of running away from Helena's tight grip, but she never actually expected him to go through with it.

Aria slowly lifted the window open, climbing out and carefully gripping into the windowsill. She hadn't actually climbed out a window before, but how hard could it be?

Apparently much harder than it seemed. Aria's hand slipped from the windowsill and she landed with a hard _thud _on her bum, eliciting a gasp. As she climbed up, Aria rubbed the sore part and glanced up, hoping her mother hadn't heard her . . . _sneaking_. Convinced that Helena was still asleep, Aria turned and took off down the street after her brother.

Zach was walking down the street, a hood pulled over his head. Glancing around, Zach turned and took a sidestep down an alley. Aria hurried, her socks damp from walking along the rain-soaked sidewalks. She mentally cursed herself for forgetting to at least put on some shoes.

She turned the corner and saw Zach moving along at a slow but steady pace. She crept along the alley, wondering what in the world he was doing. Why would he be walking out in the middle of the—

_Crunch._

Aria rolled her eyes as she shook her foot free from the potato chip bag on the ground. "Stupid litterbugs," she mumbled as she lifted her eyes, meeting Zach's own as they opened up wide.

"Aria!" he called out. He strode towards her hurriedly, exasperated. "What are you doing here?"

"Coming after you," she replied, crossing her arms across her loose-fitting pajama blouse. "What are _you _doing?"

Zach eyed her angrily before he glanced to his feet. "Running away—it doesn't matter." He groaned. "No one was supposed to realize until tomorrow." He sighed, then added, "Please, just go home. It will all be fine. I'll keep in touch—I promise."

Aria shook her head, pursing her lips. "No. I'm not going to just let you run off and leave me." She stepped forward, throwing her arms around her brother. "You're my best friend, Zach, please don't leave me. Please."

She fought to keep the tears back, the ones she had been holding in for so long, through all the fights and the terrible yelling. Zach slowly reached up and hugged her back, hands firmly gripped against her. "I wish I could, Aria, but it has to be done." He slowly pulled her away, looking into her eyes. "You know that as much as I do. All the fights, I just can't take it anymore." He offered a slim smile, the kind he had grown accustomed to using to calm tensions. "Like I said, don't worry. I'll keep in touch, and I'll be back before you know it. It'll only be for a little while."

Even as he said it, they both knew it wasn't the complete truth. Yeah, he'd come back, but when? Months? Years?

"I can't deal with it for that long, Zach. Mom will do the same thing to me, and I won't have anyone to talk to about it." She pleaded with him. "Please, Zach—it'll only be for a little. Then you can go to college and still be around."

Zach ruffled her hair, messing it up. "Look, Aria, I'll still be around. We'll be able to talk."

"Where are you going?" she asked quizzically.

He sucked in a sharp breath. "I don't know, maybe one of my friend's houses. I'll probably move around, but still be in the area." He smiled again. "But look, like I said, I'll still be in touch, okay? So just go home, get some rest—you're going to need it."

Aria opened her mouth to speak again before a deep, husky voice cut in. "Hey, Fingers, look what we got here."

A smooth, clipped voice spoke after it. "Two fine, voluntary supporters of our cause. Would you two mind breaking it up and kindly donating to our great cause?"

Zach turned and saw two guys standing in the alley. One was a shorter, stockier guy—really, he was kind of fat. The other was tall and skinny as a rail. He was twirling a knife in his right hand. Well, what was left of it; two fingers were missing. Aria could guess which one of the two he was.

"Why, it's just a couple o' kids, Fingers," the fat one said, cracking his knuckles. "What should we do with 'em?"

"Take their money," the tall guy mumbled, "and kill 'em?"

"Partner, great minds _do _think alike."

Before either sibling could react, the fat guy charged and lifted Zach up, slamming him into the brick wall of the alley. A sickening pop sounded as Zach cried out, gripping his shoulder tightly. He ducked and sent out a punch, connecting with the mugger's jaw. It only bounced and the big guy punched down hard, sending Zach to the ground. The fat guy kicked and punched and spat, every attack connecting. Zach grunted, coughed, and screamed, and Aria stood and watched helpless.

Then the tall guy—Fingers—moved towards her. "Come on, missy," he whispered, holding his knife up. "Got anything on you?"

Aria thought about retorting, "Where? I have no pockets," but decided now wasn't a good time to dig into her bag of poorly-timed humor. She slowly backed up, wondering whether to try and help Zach or run for help. She decided on the latter.

Turning, Aria took off down the alley but she tripped on a recurring hazard: the chip bag. The air knocked out of her, Aria glanced back and saw Fingers approaching, knife held tightly. _Please please please please, _Aria prayed hurriedly, hoping for a miracle. _Please, God, help us._

Suddenly, Aria felt something in her hand. She felt around and glanced down, seeing a bone-white knife in her hand.

When she actually saw the material of the knife, her mouth dropped. It _was _bone.

Too confused to question it and too threatened to wait, she looked to see Fingers reaching his left, uninjured hand to her. Without thinking, Aria whipped out and sliced across the attacker's hand.

Now, he was missing _four _fingers.

As Fingers shrieked and dropped his knife, clutching his bloodied hand, he collapsed on the cement and Aria jumped up. The fat man stopped beating Zach and turned to his friend, running over and checking on him. Aria grabbed Zach by the shirt and pulled him up. The two stumbled away and out into the street, hoping to escape the alley before the two criminals got back up.

Immediately as they entered the street, lights flashed upon them and a car slammed on its brakes. When Aria glanced at the vehicle, her eyes widened. _It's the night of miracles._

The police cruiser flashed its blue lights and the door whipped open. A uniformed officer climbed from the car and rushed to the two kids, taking in every ounce of Zach's black-and-blue bruised face and Aria's torn pajamas. "What are you kids doing out here at this time of night? What's happened to you?"

Aria hurriedly pointed into the alley, and the officer glanced up, reaching for his holstered sidearm. As he snapped it open and drew his gun, the cop glanced around the corner and saw the two muggers. "Police, freeze!" he yelled, and the two jumped up. The fat one reached to his belt and withdrew a glistening pistol, but before he could fire a shot echoed in the streets and he slumped against the wall. The other man took off running and the officer trained his gun but held his triggerfinger.

Once the one man had hit the deck and the other had disappeared, the officer crept closer and kicked the gun away from the downed crook. Aria held Zach tight as he leaned against the cruiser. Once he let go, Aria began to feel a pain inside and she looked to her hand. The knife was gone.

Suddenly, an unstoppable pain coursed through her. Aria shrieked and screamed and she fell to the ground, writhing in agony. The police officer glanced over, his mouth agape, and he ran over, hands scrambling for his radio. "Unit Two-Nineteen, we have shots fired at Clark Street. Requesting an ambulance; we have two injured victims and shooter down. Repeat, we need an ambulance."

* * *

Aria jerked awake. She was breathing heavily, her chest heaving with each breath. Slowly, she looked around and saw she was back in bed in the apartment she shared with her father. As the breathing calmed, Aria ran a hand over her sweat-streaked face.

Just a dream.

Not that it hadn't happened, but it had done so seven years ago. Aria was now nineteen, and she lived alone in the nice apartment with her father, one of Gotham's top coroners who worked closely with the GCPD. Zach was no longer living with them, having been able to acquire the ability to go overseas to a musical conservatory and fulfill his wish at playing the piano.

Helena no longer lived with the family in any capacity. Once Spencer had learned of the incidents that had unfolded, the couple had decided it would be wise to get some time away from one another. Helena had moved away and retaken her maiden name of Choi. Aria herself believed that Helena had returned home to Singapore, but that was just a guess. No one knew for certain.

Aria slowly slung her feet out of the bed. As she slowly climbed up, she reached for the cane near her bed. As she gripped it, Aria helped herself to her feet and crept to the mirror attached to her dresser. Her hair was still caramel, running halfway down her back. It still curled inward at the edges, but Aria liked it. Gave her a more childish look—not childish in an immature way, but in a fun, innocent way.

Not that Aria was always innocent. She did love a crude joke now and then, and wouldn't resist making one herself when the time was right. That was a trait she inherited from her father—a sense of humor that only few could appreciate. With a dad who often dealt in death, you had to adopt a sense of humor that could be a bit dark in some ways.

Spencer had come from the United Kingdom, and Helena had hailed from Singapore, so Aria retained certain aspects of both races. She had the eyes and nose of Asian descent, but a great many other of her physical attributes were of an English inheritance. Overall, she was of a slim body type, and was actually much smaller than most nineteen-year-olds. She stood at four-foot-nine, a petite size for someone who was in early adulthood.

Her frailty was attributed to her . . . powers. Aria thought back to her dream, the bone knife appearing in her hand—it was all surreal, even now. Aria had learned that she was able to summon various body parts—both bone and organic—and use them to create weapons or just everyday items for her use, much like the knife she had summoned to fight off the muggers.

The drawback she had from using this ability was what she deemed as "recoil," a sharp pain in her own particular body part that was used as a weapon. For example, if she used leg bones to create a weapon, her legs would ache in sharp pangs of pain. The longer she used a particular weapon or object, the longer the pain would linger.

It was something she called Deal With the Devil—she got something out of it, but it came back to hurt her. Thus, she used it sparingly and when she needed to, knowing good and well a period of pain was waiting for her. That was why she often had to resort to different aids to help her get around, including her cane, a pair of crutches, and even a wheelchair on certain occasions.

Spencer and Zach knew of her power, but they kept it a secret. For all everyone else knew, it was simply nerve damage that had caused her growth to be stinted and her to require help in getting around.

As Aria fiddled with her hair, a knock sounded at her bedroom door. "Aria, sweetheart, are you up?"

"Yes, Dad," she called out. "Getting ready now."

"All right. Breakfast is ready whenever you are."

"Sounds good. I'll be right out."

* * *

After getting dressed, Aria made her way into the kitchen, where Spencer was standing, dressed to perfection in his work clothes and a jacket proclaiming "CORONER" in bold letters affixed to the back.

Spencer offered a smile. Despite his older age—well, older by Aria's standards; such words often made Spencer playfully shrivel up in offense. "I thought you might want something a little _sweeter_ today." He placed a pan of cinnamon rolls on the counter, and Aria's eyes lit up. Sweets were her greatest weakness; well, besides her power's recoil.

"You thought right," Aria grinned, licking her lips as she grabbed one, then two, and then three total cinnamon rolls before making her way to the table, where plates were already sitting.

"Oh, don't worry, I didn't want any," Spencer joked playfully, moving to the table with his own breakfast, a bowl of cereal—and a cinnamon roll for himself.

As he scooped up a spoonful of cereal and forced it into his mouth, Aria arched an eyebrow. "Do your morgue and cop buddies know you eat Cap'n Crunch?" she asked, a smile on her lips.

"I don't think it really matters," he returned, "but no, they don't. Besides, Detective Bullock probably eats anything he can get his hands on."

"Doughnuts," Aria said between clearly purposeful coughs.

"Yes. And just about everything else." As Spencer ate another two bites, he piped back up. "Jim—Commissioner Gordon—mentioned something to me the other day about a government-funded initiative that he's helping put together."

"Government?" Aria scoffed. "I thought the government was the main reason crime was running rampant in Gotham."

Spencer shrugged. "Pretty much. I figured you felt that way, so you wouldn't be interested in joining up and told him so."

Aria stopped midchew and froze. "'Joining up'? You mean I was invited?!"

Her father gave a nonchalant nod. "Yeah. But I told him since you wouldn't be interested in helping fight crime that—"

"Hold on a second," she cut in, holding her hand out. "Why didn't you ask me first?"

Spencer turned to her then burst out laughing. "I can't hold it in any longer. Look, Aria, I'm just messing with you. I told Jim you'd be interested in it, and that I'd have you there for the initial meeting, so you can get a feel for it, decide if it's something you'd want to participate in. Sounds good?"

Aria felt an unbearable grin creep across her face. "So all of this was just a ploy to try and get me upset?" she asked.

Spencer shrugged. "Yeah, pretty much."

The two shared a laugh before Aria spoke up. "So, when is this first meeting?"

"Tonight," Spencer replied. "At the GCPD headquarters at seven." He glanced to her. "You would be interested, I assume?"

"Would I? Of course!"

Spencer nodded. "I figured that would be your answer, and I told Jim just as much." A few awkward moments of silence passed before he spoke up. "Aria, honey, about your powers—just be careful and, if you do use them, don't do so much you hurt yourself, okay?"

Aria stopped, confused. "Wait—this has to do with my powers? What kind of government movement is this?"

Spencer rubbed his chin thoughtfully before he glanced at her. Finally, he said, "I think it'd be best if you just waited until tonight. You'll find out everything then."

* * *

**A/N: Hello everyone! Here's chapter 6, where you all get to meet Aria Saint-Claire, the latest member of our team. What'd you all think of her introduction and her backstory? I hope you all enjoyed it, and please review and let me know your thoughts thus far and anything else about the story. Thanks for reading!**


	8. Chapter 7 - Annalise Blackwood

**Chapter 7 - "Annalise Blackwood"**

_Four Days Earlier_

"Of course she can have one of puppies! Let her take two if she wants." Annalise Blackwood stopped mid-sentence, waiting for Joshua Smith to continue. The Indian descendant was busy trying to dissuade Annalise from allowing his daughter to take one of the pups from the litter of eight her pet retriever and Labrador had recently produced.

"Look, Joshua," Annalise said, one hand on her hip as she spoke into the cell phone. "Harriet can have the puppies, I'm sure. No, I'm not letting my emotions get in my way." She let out a chuckle, the dimples of her smile deepening. "All right. I'll be waiting for you to call. G'bye."

Annalise clicked an end to the call, tossing the phone onto a nearby desk in her bedroom, one of the chambers of the underground train station she had morphed into her humble abode. With a feel for the rustic, the train station had been reassembled to resemble a relaxing, beautiful home that seemed right out of the past.

As Annalise strutted past the mirror in her bedroom, she glanced at it to check her hair. Those pesky orange curls at her hairline were bursting free as usual, and Annalise contorted her mouth in frustration at the unruly hairs. Most of her long, orange hair was tied into a long, thick braid running down her back, but these few curls that loved to sprout free had always proven to be a problem unless bobby pins were brought into the picture.

"I don't know though," Annalise commented with a shrug. "They're kinda cute." Not that Annalise needed much help in the looks department; her smooth, lightly-tanned face was easily among the most attractive in Gotham, if not the world. She carried about her the beauty of an aristocratic heiress, for truth be told she was—in some fashion.

Annalise was not only attractive, but also athletic—the muscles were hidden beneath the fair appearance. She bore a lean body, with long legs and wide shoulders to offset and balance her figure's pear shape.

Annalise turned away from the mirror and sat on her comfy bed, taking in the spacious room provided by her personal quarters. As she sat, her tabby cat walked closely and purred. Annalise scratched the cat behind her ears. The cat had a . . . _unique _name, called Baba Yaga by her owner—out of affection, of course.

Baba Yaga wasn't the only cat, let alone animal residing in Annalise's restructured train station-home—she also owned a gray cat named Titania, a shadow cat named Bast (short for bastard—perhaps after the fact that Annalise's father was one himself, or perhaps because of the implications of such a name, she never told), a dog named Yule (likewise short for another crass terminology, which she only uttered when he warranted such punishment), a terrier-chihuahua cross named Chainsaw and a hellhound dubbed Buttons, and the two dog mates and their puppies.

Not to mention the more uncommon of animals: Annalise also possessed ownership of a shark named Susie, a goose named Horry (short for Horrible), a cow and her calf, a flock of teleporting crows (don't ask where they came from, Annalise herself has no clue), a glowing bird named Lightbulb (fittingly), Theophania the giant snake, and an eldritch creature who she had called Kyle. Oh, and perhaps the smartest of her animal companions, the monkeys Prince Ali, Aladdin, and Genie, the only ones to respond to their names when called.

Annalise, as most could ascertain, was fond of various animal companions. After all, one in her position could not just burst into companionship with regular people anytime she wanted to. Yes, she possessed a few close human friends, but no one close enough to know of her strange residence and the deep past she held secret. No one, actually, outside of herself or her family knew her past, and they all were gone in one way or another.

Annalise lay out on the bed as Baba Yaga began to purr and roam about the bed before hissing. Annalise sighed; Bast must've entered the premises. The two always fussed and spat at one another, despite being good friends. Must be the way they played, she assumed.

The phone on the desk buzzed, and Annalise slowly got to her feet. She smoothed down her floral-styled dress out of habit and made her way to the desk. She reached for the phone and picked it up. A playful grin appeared on her lips when she saw the caller ID. She accepted the call and pressed it to her ear. "Well, I consider myself blessed to be graced by your calling me."

It was a smooth, youthful voice that answered her greeting. "You know you're always free to give me the call."

Annalise grinned playfully. "It's more fun when the guy does the chasing."

Bruce Wayne let out a laugh. "You sure make it difficult to resist the urge to break our little vow, Annalise."

Since they had met two years earlier, Annalise and the young Bruce Wayne had become good friends. They had met at some gala held by Wayne Enterprises; at the time, Bruce was younger than he was presently, at the ripe age of twenty-two. Not the age most CEOs of such a renowned business as Wayne Enterprises would generally be, but it was what Bruce was. He was wise beyond his years, many people knew that.

But not so many got to know him on a personal level. Annalise and Bruce didn't have any serious relationship with each other, at least not romantically. When they first brushed into contact, the two did make eyes at one another, but as their friendship grew, they decided to be just that—friends. There was still a bit of playful flirting between the two, but out of jest and in keeping with the social system likely presented to two young, attractive, and affluent people as themselves.

"In all honesty, what is the purpose of this call?" Annalise asked. Their moment of banter had passed; onto the business end of things.

Bruce's confident, unfaltering voice picked up immediately. "A little Wayne Enterprises business. Nothing to do with the business itself, but we are indirectly involved."

"Sounds interesting." Annalise needed the details.

"The government has decided to allow for the creation of an institution focused on dealing with the corruption in Gotham that sprouts from the crime families. Wayne Enterprises was approached as one of the funders, and I mentioned how you had a _knack_ for law and such."

A twinkle and smile appeared in Annalise's face. Among the discussions she and Bruce had had over the years as friends, debates over policies and laws had often come up, and Annalise made it clear that she was focused on such topics. She did, after all, possess a vast knowledge.

"Anyways, I thought it was something you might be interested in. I dropped your name to Commissioner Gordon, and he said that someone of your expertise could be of use to this institution."

Annalise twisted a finger through the orange curls of her hair. "You're so thoughtful, Bruce." In keeping with their playful relationship, she added, "I could just kiss you."

Bruce chuckled. "You'll have to wait a little bit to fulfill that promise. I'm actually about to head out of town for a little business trip."

"A business trip? With such an important 'institution' in the works?"

"I'm afraid it can't be helped. Besides, one of my top officials will be there to supervise. I'd trust him with my life."

Annalise nodded. "I understand. Well, I hope you enjoy your trip, good sir. I'll be awaiting your return to let you know how your little invitation and initiative pans out."

"I'll be waiting to hear from you. Take care of yourself, Annalise. It can get pretty dangerous out there."

"Why don't you look out for yourself, Bruce? I've got the experience I need to handle myself pretty well. It's the business world that houses the most sharks and cutthroats."

That elicited another laugh from Bruce. "You've got that right. I'll be seeing you." Annalise bid her own farewell before hanging up the phone.

As she dropped the phone again, she turned back to see Bast sitting on her bed. Baba Yaga was gone; he must've chased her off. "Did you hear that, Bast? Good ol' Brucie has invited us to a crime-fighting syndicate of sorts. Just the thing I've been waiting for."

The playful twinkle of memories of years' past returned to Annalise's eyes. This was just the thing she'd been waiting for.

You see, Annalise Blackwood was no ordinary girl. Not just because of her otherworldly beauty and charm, but there was so much more, that might explain some of those attributes.

While to all intents and purposes Annalise Blackwood was still in the prime of her youth, with the physical traits of a nineteen-year-old girl, she was actually five-hundred-and-eight. No Fountain of Youth was responsible, but magic was.

It all began in Wales in the 1500s. Annalise and her brother, Hendrick, grew up in a small village with their parents and the other village dwellers. Annalise's father was the son of a noble, but because he was an illegitimate child, he had not inherited the nobility of his father's rank. Instead, he lived as a woodcarver in a simple village, providing the means of livelihood for his family, especially his wife, whom he crafted tailoring equipment for.

Everything moved along smoothly in the life of Annalise and her family. She had formed a budding, innocent romance with the local blacksmith's son, David, and the two were going to be married when they were of age. Annalise still remembered the boy with affection, along with all her other childhood friends—they had all grown up together and were inseparable.

Then, a stranger named Moras Abolon came to the village and was warmly accepted. He lived as a trader and shared stories with the locals, and he became a regular for a time until he announced his departure. In truth, he did not leave; he lived in secret, mixing science and sorcery, before casting a spell across the entire village.

Chaos erupted. Many villagers died immediately, including Annalise's father. Her mother also fell ill, and she and Hendrick had to do their best to survive in a town of chaos. David also perished, mutated by some deadly inflection caused by Abolon's magic.

Before long, the entire village had become mutated, the villagers transformed into mad, inhuman creatures—all except Annalise and Hendrick. The two were instead mutated within, not on the outside. They both inherited their father's attractive, aristocratic features, but they also possessed magical powers. Annalise was able to control time itself, bending it to her will. She also was able to cast a variety of her own spells.

Hendrick's powers allowed him to absorb magic and energy from the world around him, giving him power. But it also is what gave him the will to live. Without absorbing life, he would die, as someone might if they never ate or drank for nourishment. He needed to absorb energy to survive.

The two siblings ran for their lives, escaping their mutated town and seeking refuge in Scotland. They lived their lives out using their magic in peace and for survival purposes only; Annalise became a medicine woman, and Hendrick a huntsman. He hunted animals and absorbed their energy to keep himself alive.

It was then that the two noticed Hendrick was not aging. The energy he absorbed was able to allow him to retain his youthful elegance, and they feared what would happen to Annalise if she continued to age. Would she die, leaving Hendrick alone in the world?

To stop the process, Annalise pressed the "pause button" of sorts, halting her aging process. She no longer grew older either, so the two forever retained their appearances as they were at the time; Annalise appeared nineteen, and Hendrick appeared twenty-two.

The two journeyed across the world, taking part in various escapades to pass the time. After all, they were blessed with what seemed to be eternal life, so why not use it to explore and live a unique life? They started out simple as fishermen, before joining a band of mercenaries, led a revolt, saved a young noble and served as aristocrats themselves, and usurped a corrupt leader of a land.

As they lived their lives, Annalise and Hendrick became careless and thought nothing of the attention they might attract. Little did they know that Moras Abolon himself was alive, and he was searching for them. He eventually discovered them, and an epic battle took place. Hendrick was able to absorb Abolon's life energy and kill him, becoming much more powerful in the process.

Annalise grew concerned for her brother. He could no longer live off of animals and plants to nourish him; he needed more energy to stay alive, after absorbing so much of Abolon's life. Annalise tried to pass on some of her own magic to keep him fulfilled, but it wasn't enough—if she gave any more, she herself would die. They then agreed they would take human life to keep Hendrick alive. Not innocents, just murderers and other scum who deserved death.

Eventually, the killing had begun to wear down Hendrick's mind. Yes, he was killing those who had murdered as a way of life, but so much bloodshed still tore at the innocence within. Hendrick eventually lashed out in a bar fight, and killed an entire town. Shaken by what he had done, Hendrick killed himself.

Abolon's life force would not be stopped, however. With Hendrick having ended his own life, he weakened his own will and gave almost complete control to the evil sorcerer. Hendrick's body was revived and he soon became completely emotionless, and Annalise had to make the moral decisions for them both. She still refused to take innocent lives, but she became completely desensitized to taking the lives of evildoers.

Annalise began to feel more and more guilty, her conscience tearing at her for taking so many lives—even those of the guilty. She tried to temper their lust for blood, but Hendrick would not be stopped. He began to kill innocents in secret, and the truth was revealed when he killed an order of good mages who had been their friends.

Annalise knew he had to be stopped. The two engaged in a great battle, but they were unable to defeat one another. In part because they knew each other so well, having been together for so long. But it was primarily because they both couldn't bring themselves to kill their own sibling. Even Hendrick's tormented mind was able to keep himself from committing such a heinous act.

Annalise was able to take control of the fight and turn it in her favor. When Hendrick was distracted, she sealed him in a pocket of time and he lay there in slumber, at peace.

Worn and beaten, Annalise placed her brother in an Icelandic fortress, where it was guarded by an order of powerful warriors who Annalise could trust. She placed a spell on them so they would never age, like her, and they stood guard at the fortress to this very day.

Without any family or friends, Annalise decided to put aside her life of hunting down wrongdoers. The killing had taken its toll, and she went to therapy. She had been able to snap out of the idea that killing anyone who was guilty was okay. She still felt the assurance that those who had taken innocent lives were not worthy of their own life, but she wasn't bent on killing just for the sake of it. Not anymore.

Through the ages, Annalise traveled the globe, learning all the crafts, secrets, histories, and skills she could. As she grew older (mentally, she still possessed the youthful physical beauty), Annalise began to let history take its own course and she simply viewed from the shadows. As capitalism skyrocketed, she made a few wise investments and had a strong financial foundation. She scanned the United States for a good city for wealthier individuals, and she moved to Gotham, where she lived for the next fifty years.

Annalise was still able to use her will against crime to stop a few illegal acts here and there, but she mostly operated in a social life. Her pride in collecting and investigating history allowed her to take a part-time job in a museum, where she authenticated different antique items. She even had a collection herself—when rumblings sounded of magical or historical items being smuggled into Gotham, she made sure she was nearby to try and get her hands on it. Either through an auction if it was legitimate, or through other means if it was not.

As Annalise snapped out of her recollection, she eyed the colorful, glowing tapestry on the wall of her bedroom. It had been crafted by her mother, detailing the Blackwood family's life. Annalise had taken up sewing, and she herself was working on what she dubbed a "sequel," another tapestry detailing the lives of herself and her brother. Primarily herself—after all, she had many more years experience after Hendrick had been incarcerated in Iceland.

Annalise sighed softly. She still missed her brother, even though he had done many unpardonable evils. Could he truly be blamed, though? Abolon had possessed his body, but at certain times Hendrick had still displayed signs of his old self. Was he truly there, and he had just allowed Abolon to commit such evil acts, or was he only able to flare his old personality on certain occasions?

_Best not to think about it, _Annalise had told herself continually. Hendrick had finally been put to rest. Now, Annalise had to live her own life. Keep building skills and a foundation—and now, with a smile, she thought of her new occupation. Crimefighter? She liked the sound of that.

Annalise softly got to her feet, gracefully moving to an old trunk in the corner of her room. As she easily unlatched the lock, she lifted the heavy lid off and dug around inside before she withdrew a black facemask. The goggles were avian in appearance, glossed in an orange sheen. Two hooks on the sides were to go over the wearer's ears, and they were able to connect with two magnets attached to a neck sleeve she owned.

The mask hadn't been worn in years; Annalise hadn't fought in combative situations in a while. Well, there were a few times when some inebriated business tycoon might've made a move on her, but she was able to take care of _them _without needing a whole uniform.

Annalise grinned as she rubbed her fingers over the orange lenses. "Could do with a little cleaning," she murmured, "but it'll look as good as new once I'm through with it." Quickly, she grabbed the mask and dug around in the trunk for a few more items before turning and jogging to her armory.

* * *

**A/N: Hello everyone! Here's chapter 7, which introduces us to Annalise Blackwood, the oldest member of our team! What'd you all think of the character and her introduction? Also, we got our first glimpse at a primary character. What'd you all think of the chapter? Please leave your thoughts of the chapter in a review and let me know how you guys think of the story as a whole thus far! Until next time.**


	9. Chapter 8 - Matt Kattegat

**Chapter 8 - "Matt Kattegat"**

"Matt!" Abel Van Maes yelled, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorway into the back room of his café, the Café Dutchman. "You just gonna stand around all day or are you gonna actually do some work?"

Blond, eighteen-year-old Matt Kattegat grinned as he jumped to his feet. "Don't worry, I'm gonna get to it. I just was taking a break." Matt scratched at his hair, kept neat in a triangle-shaped style.

"Break, huh?" Abel asked. Like Matt, he had blond hair, but his was dirty blond and kept short and spiked. Abel was also five years Matt's senior, but the two were the best of friends and practically brothers. "You've been on a break all day, my man."

Matt reached for the black apron slung over the back of his chair. "All right, all right, I'm getting to work."

"Let's see some hustle," Abel shot back, partly joking. Partly because, even though he was an organized man, Abel knew that Matt's slowness was both a mix of his own king of jesting and the wandering thoughts of youth. Not that Abel was any old-timer himself, but he was old enough to be Matt's boss.

Matt tied the apron onto his body and marched from the back room. Abel followed, clad in the same type of apron. It was his idea, a whim of his. He had several characteristics that were . . . unique, as he was a neat-freak and completely obsessed with organization.

Matt snorted at the thought. When he had first met Abel, the man was anything but organized. He was a _mess_, putting it bluntly.

Matt had stumbled into Abel's apartment one night when Abel was a drug addict, strung out on practically everything, from narcotics to alcohol. After a bit of a talk, Matt was able to speak to the young, troubled man and he learned his background. Turned out, Abel had grown up in a house with two druggies for parents, and they had abandoned and neglected him. Then Abel's "friends" had left him for the police once, and then, the current situation involved a girl who he had gotten mixed up with. Everything seemed to be going well, until Abel had found out his girlfriend was sleeping with his boss. When he asked her about it, she informed his boss of his knowledge and Abel was fired, losing his job and his girl at the same time.

Such a story had gotten Matt, even though he was still young, to help turn this young man's life around. Abel had been involved in drug cartels, but Matt was able to steer him away from using drugs constantly and dealing fluently with the cartels. He wasn't fully, one-hundred percent clean just yet, but things were a lot better, and Matt was to thank for that.

Out of appreciation, after he had gotten on his feet again, Abel had started a café and he hired Matt to be waiter there. Matt graciously accepted, and he was able to provide funding for his family. What was left of it, that is.

Matt had a tough childhood, and a life that was the thing of movies or fiction. He had been birthed by a Danish woman, Margarethe, who took part in a ritual. It failed, and the product of the failure was Matt. The ritual leader refused to kill Margarethe for failing but he left her alone at the site. Margarethe stumbled into the road and was nearly killed before she was helped by a passing stranger.

Eventually, a Dutch man named Christian Kattegat married Margarethe and brought her life to a normal pace. Christian raised Matt as his own son, and he and Margarethe eventually bore two more children, a boy named Jan and a girl named Lucy. As they grew up, Matt, Jan, and Lucy were the best of friends.

Until one night when everything changed. Matt heard a noise and investigated, finding his mother, wearing a hood, fighting with other hooded figures. She told him to run with his siblings. Attackers approached and she summoned fire to burn them alive. Another hooded figure gave Matt the same warning, and he rushed to his siblings. As he did so, he peeked into his parents' bedroom, where he saw blood all over the place. Frightened, Matt rushed to his siblings' room and found them awakened and in shambles. He took them and . . . left.

He didn't run from the house or hide, he just left, thanks to an ability he still did not have full understanding of. He had accredited it to the failed ritual—perhaps it wasn't as failed as once thought. He had some kind of _connection _with darkness, he knew that from an early age. His shadow had always been darker than those of others, and he had been able to create various hallucinogens to scare his siblings and others. All out of fun, primarily.

What happened then had shocked him, and he still didn't quite have a grasp on how he exactly did it. He just hugged his brother and sister close and wished and prayed that they could get away, and . . . they just _left_.

They found themselves in a dark alley, in a city near his home. Someone was in the alley when they arrived and approached, inquiring about the whole situation. In fear, Matt had lashed out, and the sight that followed still chilled his bones—black tentacles, they appeared to be, reached from the shadows and grabbed the man by his throat, yanking and tearing. The sickening snaps and pops were still fresh in his mind as the man's shrieks were muffled and his head snapped a full one-eighty.

In fear, he had ran off with his brother and sister. He had been able to master his abilities enough to learn that he could instill thoughts into the minds of others, and he told his siblings that they were alone and wiped away all memories of the things that had happened—the fighting, the killing, all of it.

Matt still shuddered at the thought of what he'd done. The man could've meant harm, yes, but he also could've just been a harmless hobo innocently inquiring, and Matt had never given him the chance.

All this, when he was just ten.

For years, Matt went on the run with Jan and Lucy. They moved from town to town, city to city, and he would take on small jobs wherever he could as a kid. He tried to get his siblings as much of an education as he could, providing false papers to get them into schools. But they still had to leave regularly, erasing all marks of their pasts.

Matt had a run-in once with a few hooded figures, who were some of the very same ones he had encountered in the house that night, some of the people his mother had been fighting. He had used the darkness to swallow them up, tear them apart. He was just thankful for the shadows so he didn't have to see the carnage with his own eyes.

Money was hard to come by as a kid, and Matt knew it. One night, while he was "shadow-walking," as he called it, Matt stumbled upon a warehouse where gang members were plotting a hit-and-run for a rival gang's leader. Seeing the opening he desperately needed, Matt entered the warehouse and disrupted all the lights. Distorting his voice and hiding in the shadows, Matt took the job himself—without invitation—and ordered to have five thousand dollars paid to him for the job.

The gang members, on edge, agreed and left the money on a table with a lit candle. Matt had told them to enter once the candle was out, and their request would be fulfilled. When the light went out, they did as commanded, and found their target's head in the place of the money, and the candle was out. Beside it was a note stating that he could be reached with a small candle if more jobs ever opened up.

Matt's reputation was spread throughout the criminal underworld, and he was referred to as "It." The rumors had caused him to smile—word spread that he was a demon, carrying out jobs. The question he always asked himself was why a demon would want money, but he didn't argue. He got the money and no one ever expected a kid (he was just thirteen at the time of his first job) to be behind such brutal deaths.

Matt himself had a "code" he lived by. He never killed people unless specified by the contract, unless otherwise necessary, and he never targeted women or kids.

Eventually, Matt had had his encounter with Abel and the two had become best of friends. You see, Abel always had a nagging suspicion that Matt _was _some otherworldly creature, but Matt had relayed his story to his friend and Able believed him—for the most part. He still was a bit fearful, and treated Matt like he owed him a debt at times.

By Matt's book—if he was even keeping score—Abel had paid him back already. Abel had provided Matt with his job as a waiter at the café, and he had helped him open up a bank account to keep his funds stocked. Matt had been able to purchase a small apartment, where he, Jan, and Lucy lived. The kids still went to school—Jan was thirteen and Lucy was eleven—and Matt did tend to spoil them, be it some new gaming console or something they wanted.

Abel had become a regular part of the family, helping them out where he could. Matt had tried to put his hitman job on the backburner. The killing had gotten to him, and even though there was still a lingering feeling there—as if he had a thirst to quench—Matt was able to overcome it, at least most of the time. He still took jobs from time to time, but he wanted to be free of the reputation as a hitman.

Because of the traumatizing situations Matt had experienced, he had sort of relapsed into a more youthful personality. He liked to joke a lot, and he was a pretty innocent kid, despite the work he had done. At first meeting him, you'd think him to be a regular guy, but that was mostly a front. He wanted to make up for some of the things he had missed because of the life he had to live.

As Matt moved from the kitchen, Abel grabbed him by the shoulder and gestured to a couple of trays of food. Abel flicked a thumb over his shoulder to a table where four teenage girls were seated. "This food goes to them over there," he said, and Matt nodded.

The teenager grabbed the trays, one per hand, and moved towards the table. His eyes ran over the food on the plates, and he glanced to the four girls and started his usual approach. "All right, who had the BLT?" A blond raised her hand, and he sat the plate down. "Hamburger with no lettuce? Chicken strips? Chicken sandwich?" After dispensing with the food, he grabbed the trays and asked, "Is there anything else?"

One of the girls shook her head and said, "Looks good."

Matt eyed her food and nodded. "Oh yeah, the chicken here is great. Our cook is a—"

The girls burst into laughter, and the one who spoke up said, "Not the food, silly. _You. _You're adorable."

Matt felt his face flush as the four girls giggled, and he offered a slim smile. "Well, I . . . um . . . uh . . . enjoy your food." He turned and strode towards the back, depositing the trays in the wash bin. As he turned the corner, he saw Abel standing there, a broad grin on his face, chuckling. "What?" Matt asked, annoyed. His face was still red, he knew it.

"'Oh, you're so adorable'!" Abel mocked in a girly voice. He choked out the last bit of his laugh. "Man, why didn't you stay there and lay some of your regular charm on? I mean, I know you aren't my class or anything, but those are some pretty good-looking girls over there."

Matt shook his head. "You're impossible. _And _an idiot. Wasn't it store policy _not _to hit on customers?"

"Policy, shmolicy," Abel said with a wave. "You know no one cares about the policy."

Matt huffed and scratched at his head. He did have a fair share of good looks, and typically had the appearance of a heartthrob, but his youthful innocence often took the wheel on encounters with girls. "Y'know, I think—I think I need a break. Can I get off early today, Abe?"

"Sure, man," Abel replied, his laugh finally subsiding. "Take off. I'll catch you later."

Matt shot back his boyish green and took off his apron, tossing it into the back. He quickly exited the café and found his bicycle, latched in the back outside the building. He climbed on it and pedaled back to his apartment.

The reason Matt had wanted his break had nothing to do with being flustered. Well, maybe a little, but he had wanted to get off a little earlier anyways. Something had come up.

Once he reached the apartment, Matt jogged up the stairs and into his unit. He plopped into the saggy sofa and withdrew his cell phone, digging into his pocket for a scrap of paper. He reread the words on the paper and took a deep breath. "It's now or never, Matt. Now or never."

Matt dialed the number on the paper and waited as the phone rang. He had found the paper in the GCPD complex. One night, he had been shadow-walking when he found a light in a dark room. A note was there, addressed to him. It informed him that they knew of him and his alter-ego, and that they wished to speak with him.

Matt had already outlined terms for whatever it was. If it was a job he wanted to take, he wanted to have some legal papers as a result so that Jan and Lucy could _legally _enroll into school. He had also made plans so that—

The voice answering on the other end cut off his thoughts. "Commissioner Gordon of the GCPD. How may I help you?"

Matt's tongue caught in his throat. All the practice he had had, and he still wa loss for words. "I—uh—my name is Matt Kattegat, and I—"

"Mr. Kattegat," Gordon's voice coolly replied. "I was getting worried we might miss you."

"Miss me?" Matt asked, puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

"It's kind of late to discuss it all right now, but here's the basics. We've been provided with the funds and support to initiate a movement to fight the crime families of Gotham. We are aware of your true identity." Matt almost cut in before Gordon continued. "I know about the killings, but trust me, that's not the purpose of this call. This call is to invite you to a little meeting we're having tonight at seven, at the GCPD. You'll get all the details there." A pause, and then, "Do you think you can make it?"

Matt thought for a moment. Helping fight crime? Him? The thought was one that he liked—a lot. "Yes. I think I can."

"Good. Just be at the GCPD tonight at seven. Ask about . . . well, just say Gordon sent for you. Okay?"

"Okay. Thanks." Matt shut off his phone and sat in silence. "What have I just gotten myself into?" he said after thirty seconds of wondering the exact same thing.

* * *

**A/N: Here's chapter 8, where we meet Matt Kattegat. What'd you all think of the character and his introductory chapter? Leave your thoughts and comments in the reviews. I'll be back with more soon! Thanks for reading.**


	10. Chapter 9 - Romero Fenwick

**Chapter 9 - "Romero Fenwick"**

The man in the gray suit stepped from an alley, stumbling about, clearly intoxicated. Clinging to his arm was a woman in a glittery party dress, made up completely. "Look, darling," she said with an aristocratic air, "why don't we just go home and relax? You're in no shape to be going to the party after all the beers you had."

"I'll be perfectly fine," the man said just before he tripped over a pile of garbage, almost face-planting into the cement before catching himself. "See? I couldn't have done _that _if I was drunk."

Before either the man or his wife could speak again, a shadow jumped from the darkness and silver glistened in the moonlight—a gun. The figure holding the gun stepped forward, revealing himself from the dark. He was donning a gray jacket, hood pulled up and his lower face covered by a red bandana. Peering from above the bandana's lip were two stark white eyes that looked like glowing snow globes.

The figure gestured with the pistol, and ordered in a rough yet youthful voice, "Keep those hands up. No sudden movements or else."

"All right, all right!" the woman shouted, raising her hands. She moved her purse towards the figure, adding, "Here, take it!" The holdup man reached for the purse and snatched it away. He turned to the man, leveling the handgun at the same time. "Your turn."

"You've gotta be crazy to think I'm gonna—" the man started before he was cut off by a sucker-punch that sent him careening into the brick wall, hand reaching for his sore cheek.

"Son of a—" he muttered before the cool barrel of the gun nestled under his nose.

"Your wallet," the robber demanded, gesturing with his open hand. "Now."

The man, the punch having gotten to him, nodded and wrenched a wallet from his pocket. He held it up, and the figure snatched it from his hand. "Thanks for following the rules." The figure gave a mocking salute before he holstered the pistol, turning and lunging at the wall. The man and woman watched in shock as the figure nimbly climbed up the brick siding, as if it were natural.

* * *

Romero Fenwick smiled with smug approval as he lowered the bandana from his mouth, doing the same with his hood. His spiked, dyed blond hair revealed itself in the night light as he held up his treasures of the night. "Look at this. Two bigwig's part with their riches."

The three figures before him all exchanged looks. The one in the center was the only one to smile, allowing a big, beaming grin to spread across her face.

"Why so glum, boys?" Catherine Parks, better known to her friends as Cathy, said, holding up her hands. "We're gonna be _rich_, don't you understand that?"

To her right, Jace Scather eyed her with an arched eyebrow. He flipped the black hair that had fallen over his eyes to the side, revealing crimson red eyes. "Oh, I don't know, maybe because those two might go and report that they were robbed by a wall-crawling thief."

Cathy snorted and playfully elbowed Jace in the arm. "Not likely. They'll probably just go back inside, cozy up, and canoodle." With a playful grin, she nudged his arm again. "Could be fun."

Jace's lip quivered and his pale face reddened. "W-what?"

Sensing the awkwardness approaching, Romero rolled his eyes and spoke up. "It doesn't matter. The cops would probably think they're just boozed up and won't follow up on the report anyways."

The man to Cathy's left, Vince Renard, smirked. "Hopefully."

Romero ignored his blunt remark and motioned to his companions. "Come on. We'd better head on back."

The four turned and moved along the rooftop, Romero in the lead. As he led the run, he thought about what he'd done. Robbery was a crime, yes, but he didn't quite look at it like _robbery_—more like Robin Hood, rob from the rich and give to the poor. Or yourself, however you look at it.

As he ran, Romero checked the gun at his hip to make sure it was secure. As he did so, he saw the part of his abdomen that was rotted away. It wasn't necessarily an injury; just an aspect of his genetic material. You see, Romero Fenwick and his gang of mercenaries weren't necessarily regular people.

They were all mutants, the freaks of society who were shunned and unwelcomed. The forgotten, who had only themselves and each other. Frankly, Romero wouldn't have it any other way.

When he was born, Romero had been birthed into an already frantic home. His father was an alcoholic and his mom was sickly, and the fact that he was mutated in appearance didn't help matters at all. His abdomen had appeared withered. Other areas on his body appeared the same way; his right arm was worn on the inside of the wrist, a bit on his back was as well. His leg also sported some damage, and his left cheek, while not worn to the bone, definitely looked as if it was marred with some disease.

As he grew older, Romero's damaged areas soon began to wear to the bone, primarily the area on his abdomen and his arm. He worked his way through school, and his malformed appearance began to appear in middle school. That's when the ribbing and name-calling started; other students referred to him as "Zombie Kid," and he tried to fight it at first. It didn't help much, and he eventually decided to give up talking and let his fists speak.

The fighting prodded him to be labeled a delinquent _and _a freak, a combination that didn't do much to help you in life. Without any true friends from his peers, Romero soon sought out others like him—with success.

Surprisingly, Romero had been able to find his best friend—Cathy—while in elementary school. The two had grown up as best buds, and it was a joyful friendship—Cathy was always a bubbly and friendly personality, not looking on the outside appearance. She always judged people by who they were, on the inside. When she and Romero met, she could see his good heart through his distorted appearance.

Cathy herself had some abnormalities. When she was young, there weren't any distinguishing features. But as she went into middle school, she revealed to Romero that she had sprouted small, sharp horns. She was able to hide them beneath her flowing blond hair, and all seemed good. Then, one day in high school, her hair fell out of place and the horns were visible. Such a fuss had been made by the other students that Cathy went into a sort-of self-exile. She didn't speak to anyone for a while, and gradually opened back up to Romero. Still, she didn't return to school.

Despite the horns, Cathy had a beautiful appearance that most humans would've fallen for, and her bubbly personality only added to it. Unfortunately, because she sported an abnormality, she was ignored and neglected by most of society. Romero felt the worst for her; while he had grown cold and emotionless to society, it was a big thing for Cathy to not be accepted, because she thrived among others.

Jace was another friend Romero had known for years. Romero was a year between Cathy and Jace; when he moved up to high school, Jace was already a sophomore and Cathy was in her final year in middle school. Without Cathy, he had to look for a friend in high school that he could hang out with, someone who didn't sneer at his disformed looks.

He found that friend in Jace. By high school, Jace had already distinguished himself as a loner, tending to stay away from others. He had approached Romero and offered his friendship. Romero was suspicious at first; Jace looked normal, aside from the red eyes. Still, he welcomed any friend he could get. The two became very good friends during their first year together, and whenever Cathy moved up, they all hung out together, as the Three Musketeers, as Jace liked to call them.

Cathy insisted on the Three Stooges. Typical Cathy.

Eventually, Jace and Romero had both graduated. Romero had a B-C average, but Jace had excelled at his schoolwork and was able to graduate and looked at going into a prominent college before he decided against it and wanted to be with his friends instead.

The three were able to fully embrace their abnormalities and unusual qualities once they were on their own. They pooled their funds and rented an apartment in Gotham's "dead town," as it was called. Not because it was empty, but because you might end up dead there if you weren't careful. Fortunately, Romero and his friends were careful.

Aside from their differentiations in appearance, the three possessed unique . . . abilities. Romero's zombie-like form allowed him to have the ability to regenerate injuries by absorbing organic matter. He could even regenerate limbs; he found that out when he lost a hand in a knife fight.

Cathy's horns were a hallmark of her special powers: she was able to transform into a dragon, a wyvern, really. Her forearms would double as wings, she had strong legs, and a small tail came from the rear. She could vary in size, depending on her choice. Sometimes she would retain a human size, but other times she might grow larger—if so desired. When she transformed, her scales were the color of her eyes, steel gray.

Jace's abilities matched his academic personality. He could conform his molecules to accomplish any manipulation he so desired, be it sprouting new arms, changing his skin's composition, or shapeshift. Doing so did make him delirious, exhausted, and pained, so he had to use it in reserved time spurts.

Concerning their families, each one varied. Romero himself has distanced himself not from them. Not because of a poor relationship; he and his mother never had any real beef, and his dad had cleaned up his alcoholism and was working to be a good father. He stayed away from them because he didn't want them to be in harm's way—at all. His mother was in a retirement home where she could be cared for, and his father was in rehab.

Cathy didn't see her family often but tried to stay in touch. They weren't on bad terms, but she felt like Romero had—she didn't want them to be in any danger. Jace, on the other hand, was jokingly dubbed a "family man," because he did try to see his family when he could. Primarily his younger sister, Felix, a shut-in and introvert. She possessed no special powers, but she did help out in ways that allowed her to stay away from others. She was a master at all things tech and computers, and Jace would bribe her to help supply them with intel whenever possible, often through pieces of tech, be it a new computer or gaming console.

The newest addition to the main crew was Vince. He was so much of a loner that he tended to stay in the shadows even when he was with the others; he rarely spoke, and when he did, it tended to be blunt and insulting. He often failed to heed directions given to him by Romero, who had been appointed as the leader of the crew. Vince's abilities allowed him to eject blades from his body and use them as weapons. He had ice-blue eyes and dark hair, and a pair of whisker-like markings adorned his face.

Vince's personality caused him to be at odds with the others on several occasions, and it was primarily with Romero. Secretly Romero felt that Vince wanted to take over the gang—he felt it was an unfounded fear, but he always felt it linger. Still, Vince could be a friend at times, just a difficult one.

The group had, by this time, reached the rooftop of their apartment building. They tended to travel by rooftop at night, as their apartment was near the top of the building. As they opened the rooftop door, Romero led the way inside. He worked off the gloves from his hands, which allowed him to climb walls. He failed to hear the door close behind him. He turned and saw Vince standing in the open doorway, holding it open.

"You coming in?" Romero asked, and Vince shook his head.

"Nah, night's my time to shine."

"We already got a haul!" Romero shot back, holding up the purse and the wallet.

Vince nodded. "Yeah, I know. But I just feel the need to prowl." He flashed a smile and added, "Maybe I'll find some other rich guy to rip off. Who knows, I might find your pal Wayne out there."

Romero frowned at the mention of the billionaire. He didn't actually know Wayne, he just knew of him. And what he did know he didn't like. Romero couldn't abide that someone that rich would keep his money to himself. Sure, he did spend it on charities on stuff, but what about people who had nowhere to go and couldn't get a real job, like Romero and his friends? Personally, he always disliked the guy.

"If you find him, but a blade in his gut for me," Romero said. He didn't really want him dead, but it fit his tough-guy persona.

"Sure thing, _boss_," Vince replied as he let the door slam. Romero rolled his eyes. He knew Vince called him "boss" just because he had told him not to. It got on his nerves to be called that. At least it wasn't as bad as . . .

"Chief!" Cathy called out. Now _that _was what really got on his nerves. He turned to her, and she flashed her own smile. "Come on, we need to get some sleep."

Romero nodded and moved along down the hallway. Jace was already in the apartment, and as Romero and Cathy moved along the corridor, he felt her arm clutch onto his jacket's sleeve. Romero paused and turned to her. She held onto his arm tightly and said, "So? Did you ask him?"

"Who?"

"Jace."

"About what?"

Cathy rolled her eyes and blew a gust of breath out, sending a fallen lock of blond hair over her forehead. "You know what I mean. What we talked about this morning."

"Oh." It was all Romero could say. He really didn't want to become the middleman in any romance, especially when it concerned his best friends. But Cathy had asked him that morning if he thought Jace liked her. He had tried his best to dissuade her, not that he didn't want them to get together. He just didn't want to be the one to _get_ them together. He didn't trust himself to do it correctly. He had hoped that she'd forget she asked him, but he should've known better.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

Cathy groaned. "You're impossible, Romero. Fine: did you ask Jace if he liked me?"

"Look, Cathy, I told you this already. You just need to talk to him yourself. He'd open up to you. It'd be better than having me be the messenger."

She arched an eyebrow. "You really think so?"

"Sure. I mean, what could he dislike about you? You're beautiful, you've got a great personality. . . ."

"And horns." She said it with the sound of defeat, and she lowered his eyes to her black boots.

"Hey," Romero said, cocking his head to the side. He reached out and hooked a finger under her chin, lifting her head up. They looked into each other's eyes, and he continued, "He can sprout extra arms out, or turn his body into iron. I don't think he's gonna care about a girl having horns."

Cathy inhaled sharply. "I just . . . I just don't know how to ask him. I don't wanna mess anything up. We're so good of friends."

Romero stood in silence before an idea lit up in his head. "Why don't you just walk up to him and kiss him? You'd find out real quick how he feels about you." He added a smile to emphasize that he was joking; sometimes his sense of humor fell flat, so he had to make sure that he got the point across that it was a joke.

Cathy got it, and she lit up with a smile. "You're impossible," she said again. It was something she had said to him often.

"I know," Romero added with a smile.

Jace's head popped from the doorway. "You guys coming?"

"Yeah, we'll be right in," Romero called out. Jace disappeared, and Romero turned back to Cathy. "Look, I'll talk to him once you've gone to bed, okay? I'll let you know how it goes."

"Okay."

The two moved into the apartment, and as Romero locked the door, he said, "So, what do you guys wanna do?"

Cathy quickly said, "I think I'm just gonna shower and go to bed."

Romero rolled her eyes. _That was quick._ He looked at her, and she was smiling at him and she gave him a quick thumbs-up when Jace wasn't looking.

Jace turned back around and brushed the hair from his eyes again. "I'll probably be dozing off myself pretty soon. Goodnight, Cathy."

"Goodnight, Jace. Romero." Cathy turned and walked into her bedroom, shutting the door.

Romero huffed. _How am I supposed to do this? _He finally walked towards Jace, who was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone.

"Jace, I have something important to talk to you about." _Better to be blunt, I guess._

Jace's eyes flicked up. "Um . . . okay. Shoot."

Romero opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. _God, how am I supposed to do this? _"Erm . . . Cathy." He slowly nodded, and Jace followed his action after a few nods.

"Yes . . . ?"

"Uh . . . you and her are friends, right?"

Jace chuckled. "Of course we're friends, Romero. We've been friends for years now." Romero cursed himself mentally; what a stupid question. Romero himself was twenty, making Jace twenty-one and Cathy nineteen. They'd known each other since school. _What a stupid question._

"Well . . . what do you think about her?"

Jace eyed him suspiciously. "I . . . like her. What is this, a third-degree? You know that I'm her friend. Did I say something that made her think we aren't friends?" He paused, and his pale face turned full white as a ghost. "That's it, isn't it? Was that what she was talking about in the hall? Oh, my gosh! What'd I say?"

"You didn't say anything!" Romero said, much more forceful than he intended. "You know what, never mind. I'm glad you guys are friends."

He placed his forehead in his hands and groaned. Jace continued to eye him suspiciously. "Yeah . . . me too."

Romero was brought back by a buzz from his phone. He fished it from his pocket and read the text. It was from a number he didn't recognize. Unlocking the phone, he jumped to the text and read it over. "What . . .?"

Jace glanced up. "What is it?"

Romero held his phone out to Jace, who read it over. "Wow," was all he said. Romero saw his eyes read over his word, absorbing it all. "The GCPD?"

Romero nodded and pulled the phone back. "It says that it's some government-funded operation . . . and Wayne-funded."

"Hey, maybe he heard what you said about him and is trying to make up for it by paying to protect Gotham."

"How would he have heard what I said?" Romero retorted. "It says that they want our entire group to come and at listen partake in the meeting. Find out what it's about and decide whether or not we want to join." He looked to Jace. "Would you be up for this?"

"I mean, it sounds like it'd be fun and we'd be able to help protect Gotham. But aren't we criminals? How would we fit in? They must know us from our records."

Romero read the text. "It says that they know about our work, but they also know about our powers, and if we take this, they'll pay us enough so we won't have to go back to mercenary work and robbery."

"But who'd go?"

Romero paused. "Go?"

"Yeah. I mean, we all shouldn't go, should we? If this is some kinda trap, we'd fall right into their hands. I think only one of us should go."

"Okay," Romero said with a nod. "Vince?"

"Not Vince," Jace said, shaking his head. "He'd probably charge the first cop he saw."

"Cathy?"

"No. Not Cathy." Jace didn't elaborate, but from the tone of his voice, it sounded protective.

Romero thought about prodding further, but he didn't; this was business, not time to carry out his promise to Cathy. "You?"

"Uhm . . . no. I was thinking, since you're our leader, _you'd_ be best."

"Me? You know me, Jace. I'm likely to mouth off to the cops or Wayne if I go there. It isn't my place to be with a lot of higher-ups."

"Nor is it mine, or Cathy's, or Vince's. They wanted the whole group, and you're our leader, so _you _can represent us."

"Now wait just a minute!" Romero started, nearly shouting. He pointed out at Jace, but he quickly jumped up and stifled a clearly fake yawn.

"Man, I just got tired all of a sudden." Another fake yawn. "I'll get back to you tomorrow, Romero."

"Hold up—wait! Jace, get back here!"

Before he could stop his friend, Jace had already ducked and gone into the bedroom he and Romero shared.

Romero shook his head. He finally succumbed and drew out the phone, typed a few keys, and sent the text. After he did, he read it over again:

_We've talked and we accept. I'll be there to represent the whole group tomorrow night. – Zombie_

Romero and the gang all had codenames they operated under when working on a mission; Romero was "Zombie," Jace was "Phantom," Cathy was "Blaze," Vince was "Blades," and Felix, when she worked with them, went by "GL1TCH."

Romero sighed and shut off his phone, stuffing it in his pocket as he strolled to his bedroom. When he entered, he heard Jace's fake snoring and laughed. "You can cut it out. I accepted."

He heard Jace laugh aloud and he rolled over. "You going to bed too?"

"Yeah. I'm kinda bushed. You think Cathy and Vince will be upset we took the job without asking them first?"

"Probably."

A few moments passed as Romero changed into his sleepwear and he got into his bed. "See ya tomorrow, Jace."

The only sound he heard was snoring. This time, it _was _real.

* * *

**A/N: Hello everyone! Here's chapter 9, where we get introduced to Romero Fenwick and his gang. What'd you all think of the characters and the chapter? Leave your thoughts on the story as a whole and this chapter in the reviews! I hope you've all enjoyed the story thus far. There's only a few chapters left to introduce the characters and then we'll have their grand meeting. Also, a bit of a note on the timeframes of these chapters: I know they jump around from the meeting being the next night or the night of, and that's just to base the intro on a certain timeframe. It isn't an error, the intros are just out of chronological order, because I wanted to write them all in submission order. Hope this clears up any confusion. Until next time!**


	11. Chapter 10 - Vermin

**Chapter 10 - "Vermin"**

_Six Days Earlier_

The tall, lanky figure scrounged around in the dark alley, creeping on all fours. A sniffing sound came from the figure as it crawled around, head to the ground. Finally, the head snapped up and green, seaweed-like hair shook.

She'd found it.

The figure then crawled up into a crouch and looked around. The thing wasn't a creature at all; it was a girl. Deformed, albeit, but a girl all the same.

She had skin the color of sage green, a lighter shade than her unruly, unkempt hair that ran to her waist. Her hands and feet, both bare, were slightly larger than the usual human appendages, and the feet resembled those of a primate. The face had been deformed so much it no longer fully looked human—she had no eyebrows and no lips, her mouth just being a gateway to her razor sharp teeth. The head itself was diamond-shaped, with a sharp chin. Perhaps her most stark characteristic were her bright yellow and black irises.

The girl's name was lost to time; she knew she was in her late teens, but not quite sure of the exact number. She only called herself "Vermin," a name she had applied after being heckled by a passerby once. She had nearly killed him in rage; she would not take any mockery or insults. She held back and fled, and when she saw her reflection in a puddle of water, she got a glimpse of herself and decided on the name, and it stuck.

Vermin. For some reason, it didn't pain her to say it now as it had in the beginning. She had almost become . . . _numb_ to the feeling.

Vermin wore only the remnants of shredded clothes; she may have been deformed, but she didn't want _everything _to be in the open. Had to keep some dignity. They were clothes she had worn for God knew how long, just having been shredded after weeks, months, even years of use.

The girl's mind was jumbled, and she didn't possess a clear memory of her past; she didn't know who she was, where she came from, or how she got to be the way she was. All she knew was that she was normal once, and she knew the identity of the woman who had done this to her.

Dr. Ingrid Fischer—true identity Letova Lydia Valerievna.

Vermin remembered having fallen for Dr. Fischer; she was a teacher at a prestigious boarding school, where Vermin—in her human form—had attended classes. The woman was beautiful and intelligent, and Vermin had been captured by her wisdom and elegance. One day, Fischer left a note for Vermin asking her to meet her off-campus.

Thinking it was an invitation to something more intimate, Vermin had accepted, although she was shocked when she received an injection in her neck. She had fallen unconscious, and she awoke in a tube full of green liquid. She was tested on for weeks, and that was when Valerievna revealed her true identity. She revealed that she had lured other people into her grasp through her good looks and wisdom, and she had kept them all as test subjects that she experimented on to get to the bottom of the greatest question she had: where humans came from. She ascribed to the theory of evolution, and sought to discover whether or not humans really came from animals.

All of her experiments had failed, however. The test subjects had all become mindless, grotesque creatures that only become drones for her, serving her obediently. Unlike them, though, Vermin was able to retain control of her own mind. When she awoke, Vermin crashed through the tube and moved in on the doctor. Valerievna escaped, and her subjects converged on her "failed" test. Vermin, using the hideous black claws that had replaced her fingernails, tore the mutants apart, all of them, and chased after the doctor, but Valerievna had escaped.

Vermin resolved that she would make it her mission to pursue the doctor. The mutations had given her enhanced speed, strength, instincts, durability, and senses. She used this in tandem to pursue the doctor, sniffing out her scent to pursue her. She traveled across the country, but Valerievna never stayed somewhere for too long, and Vermin was never able to catch up to her.

After scouring the country, Vermin came upon Gotham City. She realized that the doctor had stayed here, and was still there. For two years Vermin had stayed on and searched the city. It was so large, though, with so many hiding places, and Vermin had yet been unable to find her. But the scent was still in Gotham; she just couldn't find her.

So Vermin still made it her mission to scour the city daily for any new clues or traces. Today, there was nothing new. A few scents here and there, but no sight of her.

Vermin groaned. _Why can't this be easier? _she thought to herself as she began to move down the alley. As she drew close, she heard footsteps and voices approaching. She had been able to stay unseen—mostly—since her arrival in Gotham, and if she could have her way, she would stay that way. She turned tail and moved down the dark, grimy backstreet, moving to the end. . . .

. . . and right into a uniformed cop.

"What in—" the startled officer started before Vermin bared her sharp teeth at the GCPD cop. He backed away and his hand flew to his holstered pistol. "D-don't move!" he yelled, bringing the gun up into both hands. Vermin slung out, claws outstretched, and they scratched across the officer's hands. They flung to the right, and the pistol slipped from his fingers' grip.

As the sidearm clattered on the cement, the officer went back to his belt, fumbling for another weapon, either his nightstick or Taser. Vermin roared and charged, lifting the police officer up. She was about half a foot taller than him, standing at six-six, and it was an easy task. She grabbed him and slammed him into the brick wall, eliciting a cough and a groan. The cop dropped to his knee and breathed heavily, out of air.

Vermin turned and began to dart down the street. She needed somewhere to hide, _fast_. She couldn't have cops chasing her throughout Gotham.

Behind her, she heard the cop barking into his radio: "This is Unit Three-Fifty; there's some . . . giant green . . . thing, it just slammed me. I need backup on Parker Grove. No, I'm serious! Parker Grove, turning onto Belmont; hurry!"

Vermin didn't glance back to see him pick up his pistol, but she heard the hammer pull and the gunshots crackle in the night. Thanks to her heightened senses, Vermin knew exactly when to duck and where to move, dodging the three shots he fired before turning onto another side street.

She leapt up and grabbed the railing of an apartment balcony, lifting herself up. As she got to her feet, she heard sirens blaring not too far away. Doors slammed, and the officer from before shouted, out of breath, "Up there, on the fire escape. Get a chopper up there."

Before she knew it, the cops were exchanging orders calling for a helicopter on the scene. She started moving, climbing up the stairs. She couldn't let the chopper reach her before she got to a knew hiding place, or she might get caught.

Vermin continued running, jumping from rooftop to rooftop. Her feet padded on the hardened roofs, their leather soles not at all damaged or fazed. She leapt ahead and was about to start down another fire escape when the sound of a loud humming filled the air behind her. She didn't have to, but she turned and looked anyways. Sure enough, it was a GCPD helicopter, flying directly overhead.

"Freeze!" a loud voice barked over the intercom. "You have nowhere to go! Surrender and you will not be harmed!"

Vermin gritted her teeth before jumping down the fire escape, beginning a run for the end of the landings. Once she reached the last balcony, she jumped to the city street below. Immediately breaking into a run, Vermin tore off down the street and was just about to cross when a black van, marked GCPD, swerved right in front of her.

Vermin raised her hands, claws ready to attack, when the van's door slung open and three uniformed SWAT troopers appeared. "Tranquilizer!" one yelled, and all three officers fired the rifles in their hands. Before Vermin could react, she felt the darts piercing her green skin and she began to see black before she fell.

She didn't even feel the thud as she hit the ground.

* * *

Vermin woke up with a vengeance, and it hadn't subsided. She was bashing and tearing at the locks of the cage she was barred within. It wasn't really a cage, just a cell, but they both served the same purpose, one was just generally reserved for animals.

Truth be told, she had always felt like an animal after her metamorphosis.

Vermin was now seated in the corner of the cell, sitting in silence. She was huffing, both in anger, exhaustion, and a mix of other emotions she couldn't name. Finally, the door into the holding area opened and Vermin perked up. There were still bars dividing her from the doorway, but it was still good to at least know you weren't forgotten.

The man who entered looked all business. Long brown trench coat, a well-kept white shirt and black tie, and tan pants. His hair was dark brown with more than just streaks of gray, but it was brushed neatly. Dark glasses rest on his nose over eyes of steel. This man was important.

"I'm Commissioner Jim Gordon," the man introduced himself. Vermin's suspicions were correct.

She let silence be her answer.

Gordon sighed before he pulled up a metal folding chair and took it as a seat. "I know you don't like being locked up in here. Not many do. But I need you to realize that it's a necessary precaution."

Vermin let a scowl come across a face. It was a bit more of an answer than her silence had been before.

"I know what you're thinking, that we don't know anything about you and that we shouldn't just lock up the first . . . _different _person we see. But—"

"No," Vermin said shortly. Gordon froze and eyed her, awaiting more. Her voice was surprisingly smooth considering her appearance. She further provided: "That wasn't what I was thinking. I was thinking you should just shut up."

A smile split Gordon's wrinkle-creased face and a chuckle soon followed. Not quite the response Vermin had anticipated. "Well, no one can say you're not blunt and quick to the point." He sighed, then added, "Well, looks like I need to be out front with you, too. You see, we've discussed your being held her. Since I'm in charge, I get to make the judgement call."

"And you're going to release me." Gordon noted that it wasn't a question, but a statement.

"Not necessarily," Gordon said. "At least, that's an option."

"I'll take it."

"But you haven't heard the others yet."

"I don't care. I just want out of here."

Gordon sighed. "Just hear me out, okay?" Vermin reluctantly nodded, giving him the go-ahead. Let him speak his piece. _Then _she could leave. Gordon started up again: "The Gotham government and other business partners have allocated funds to start a . . . _movement_, of sorts. To fight the crime families of Gotham, put an end to the rush of crime in the city."

Vermin perked up at that. Crime? Could that be where the doctor has been hiding all this time? Locked up in the underworld of crime in Gotham? It's possible.

"What do I have to do?" she asked, genuinely interested.

Gordon was clearly surprised by such sudden interest. "Well . . . in one week, we're planning on having a meeting concerning all the people who've been invited to this little initiative." He paused, then asked, "Are you interested?"

Vermin slowly nodded. "Yeah," she said, sounding distant. "I am."

"Good," Gordon said with a smile. "We'll provide you housing here, give you anything that you want. Within reason, of course."

Vermin snorted. "Someone to talk to?"

Gordon didn't catch on that she had meant it as a joke, signifying that no one would want to speak to her. All he said was, "I can arrange that. If nothing else, I'll come talk to you whenever I get a free chance."

Vermin stopped and eyed him curiously. "You serious?"

Gordon nodded. "I sure am."

A few moments of silence passed before Gordon pushed the folding chair into the corner. He started for the door before he asked, "Anything special you want to eat?"

Vermin thought and said, "A steak?"

Gordon grinned. "I think that can be arranged." He turned and strode out of the holding area, moving back into the main complex. As he left, Vermin continued to stare at the door. Things were beginning to look up—she was going to fight crime, maybe find the witch who did this to her, and she was finally being treated like a human being.

* * *

**A/N: Hello everyone! Here we are at chapter 10, where you all get to meet Vermin, another member of the crew! We're nearing the end of the intros now, there's only 3 more that I have to write. There's still an open slot left if there's anyone reading who's interested in submitting their own OC to join this cast of characters. Be sure to leave your thoughts on the character, chapter, and story as a whole in the reviews, and I also want to thank each and every one of you who has submitted a character for being so great in responding and for showing your support, it means a lot. I'm glad you guys have enjoyed it. And don't worry, the actual story is about to begin. I just want all of the OCs to get a solid introduction first. It'll be soon, I promise. Until next time!**


	12. Chapter 11 - Dante Herald

**Chapter 11 - "Dante Herald"**

The police sirens echoed down the streets as police officers shuffled about, speaking amongst one another as they went about their business. While they talked, Commissioner James Gordon stood speaking with two officers. As he talked, a female officer rushed up to him. "Sir, EMS is here."

Gordon nodded and dismissed the other officers he had been speaking to. "Where are they, Montoya?" he asked, and the officer, Renee Montoya, was quick to respond.

"At the front of the store, Commissioner." She sighed deeply, then asked, "Have you found any more clues?"

Gordon shook his head. "No. But someone who should be able to help us should be here soon." Gordon and Montoya exited the convenience store that had been the victim of a robbery, where they saw an ambulance with sirens flashing unload its crew. One EMT rushed to Gordon while the other went to the back of the vehicle, opening the doors with the help of a nearby officer

"What's up, Commissioner?" the EMT asked, resting his hands on his hips.

"Holdup," Gordon remarked. "Some guy came in and busted up the store, then made off with the money."

"The victims?"

"They're alive, just beat up. Neither one's come to yet. We only knew about it because a customer came in, saw the owner and another employee knocked out on the ground, and called us."

"So no one's seen the suspect?" Gordon shook his head. "You've got no leads, huh?"

A shadow crossed Gordon's face as he replied, "Not many, no."

The two EMTs hurried inside, carrying a stretcher. As they left, a mirage of colors appeared in Gordon's peripheral vision and he sighed. "There he is," he murmured, turning to look at the approaching vehicle.

To say it was a conglomeration of parts was an understatement. The '70s VW Bug that pulled into the parking lot was sure to get a lot of second glances. The driver and passenger side doors were red and blue respectively, the hood was green, and the trunk was pink. Everything else was white.

Gordon chuckled as he saw the car. He always did.

Once the vehicle parked, the commissioner made his way over to it. The red door popped open and out stepped a man who looked right out of the '80s. He had silk smooth brown hair, parted down the middle, covering his ears and neck, and a boxed beard that covered the lower portion of his face. Green eyes peeked from beneath the shaggy hair. His clothes were less extravagant than his car, wearing a regular T-shirt and jeans, rounded off by black sneakers. His wrists sported two black leather wristbands.

"Dante," Gordon greeted, extending a hand to Dante Herald, a man he called one of his closest friends. "How's the business going?"

Dante shrugged, a relaxed smile spreading across his face. "Fair. Mostly prank calls, but it gives me a bit of a break from the rough side of Gotham." He gave a fake yawn and said, "Old guys like me need a break now and again." Gordon chuckled at the man's attempt at a joke; while he was thirty-seven, Dante was still a good few years younger than the commissioner. But he took no offense to it. The two were both good friends, both in business and in life.

Once the laughs had finished, Dante asked, "How's Barbara?"

Gordon nodded. "She's doing fine. Well, as fine as a sixteen-year-old girl can in Gotham with her dad being the commissioner." A brief pause, then, "How about your folks?"

"They're doing pretty good. The floral shop's been having a lot more business." He let out a chuckle. "I don't know whether to believe it or not, but my mom said that the word is that they're getting a lot of business because other florists are having trouble with their plants, like they're become dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Gordon laughed as well.

Dante shrugged again. "That's what she said. Like they move and latch onto people and things. I dunno, it's just what I've heard. I'm not sure I believe it."

"If anyone should, it's you, in you're line of work and all."

Dante nodded. He couldn't argue there; once he graduated from Gotham University with masters' degrees in both chemistry and criminal justice, he set up shop as a private investigator. He became the target of a number of "raids"—mostly scares involving graffiti or busted windows—from local criminal sects, forcing Dante to pack up and move to another, _better _part of town, where he set up with the name "Professional Alchemist" rather than "Private Investigator." It cut down on the criminal response, but he still received mostly prank calls.

The alchemy part wasn't a joke, though. Dante's parents, Daniel and Julia, ran Reagent Flowers, a floral shop, but they were truly alchemists by trade. They used special wards to protect their shop, which may have had something to do with all the talk about plants seemingly taking a life of their own. Still, they were getting more business and weren't being harmed, so Dante looked at it as a plus.

His family was close to the magical community, and such were able to learn a great deal about magic and were well-versed in alchemy. Dante followed their guidance and likewise became experienced in the use of magic. He could cast spells, but his forte was potions and other concoctions. He used the magic he had mastered in conjunction with his skills in detection and deduction, operating as a Sherlock Holmes with magic.

Dante's skill package was what allowed him to become a close friend of Gordon's, and he was often sought out when supernaturally rooted mysteries presented themselves, which was becoming more and more common in Gotham City.

Which was what brought Dante to the robbery of a convenience store.

The alchemist turned and nodded to the building. "I take it this is the site of the robbery?"

Gordon nodded an affirmation. "Yep. But so far, our clues aren't leading us anywhere concrete. That's why we called you."

"What'd you find?"

"Follow me." Gordon led the way into the building, Dante trailing close behind. Montoya and another officer were helping the two EMTs load up the victims. One was able to stand now, better than they were earlier. "This one's back with us?" Gordon asked.

The EMT nodded. "Just barely. He can't talk; seems to be in some kind of shock. We'll let you know when he's able to speak." The EMTs then took the two subjects to the ambulance, loading them up and leaving the scene. As they left, Gordon gestured towards a back room in the store. Dante moved there, and Gordon closed up the ranks, Montoya right at his side.

Not wanting to seem rude, Gordon nodded to the doorway. "Stand guard there, Montoya. Don't let anyone in."

Taking the hint, Montoya nodded. "Sure thing, boss."

Gordon got down on one knee and pointed to a mound of brown goop. "Tell me what that is."

Dante examined it without getting too close and scrunched his face in puzzlement. "Before I sniff, I just want to know—it isn't a pile of crap, is it?"

"No. No crap."

Dante nodded and leaned closer. There was no distinct odor. Hesitating a moment, Dante jabbed a finger into it and lifted it out, mushing it around on his fingertips. Gordon chuckled. "You're more courageous than any of us. No one wanted to touch it."

Ignoring the quip, Dante said, "It's clay."

"What?"

"Clay," Dante said again, flipping the substance off his hand and brushing it free of any lingering particles. "Do you know if it has any effect on the actual crime itself?"

Gordon shook his head. "No. My guess was that it just came off of someone's shoe. But where would someone get this much clay on their shoe? It looks almost like a clump that just fell loose. Beats me."

Dante glanced to Gordon. "You think one of your guys could box this up for me?"

Gordon shrugged. "If you think it's important."

"Maybe."

Gordon turned and called out, "Montoya! Send Fletcher for a box and have him bring it back here."

Montoya hurried off to carry out Gordon's orders as Dante eyed the suspicious substance. After a few seconds, he asked, "Have you thought any more about my invitation?"

Dante perked up. "Oh, yes. I thought your whole initiative sounded interesting. But you know me, it's the supernatural bit that intrigues me the most. So what exactly is it again?"

Gordon glanced over his shoulder before speaking, albeit in a hushed tone. "Well, I haven't told any of the other invited members about it, but there's some . . . _thing_ on the loose in Gotham."

"Thing? Like what?"

"That's just it," Gordon said, shaking his head. "We don't know. We haven't seen it yet. Just found the bodies of the victims."

"You mean it's killing people?"

Gordon paused. "No. _Eating _people."

Dante gagged. "Eck."

"I know. Whatever it was, it struck late last night. A beat cop stumbled across a guy who'd been torn apart. We haven't told the people we've invited about it because that would be the first way to _not _draw people in. We've mostly said it would involve taking down some mobsters. We'll unveil the monster part at the meeting."

"Sounds like fun," Dante said. "What time is this meeting again?"

"Tonight. Seven o'clock, at the GCPD HQ. You think you're interested?"

"I _know _I am. I'll be there."

Once the two finished, Montoya reappeared at the doorway, followed by a younger cop, who looked fresh on the beat. "Here's Fletcher, Commissioner. He's got the box you requested."

"Thanks, Montoya. You too, Fletcher," Gordon said, taking the box and passing it to Dante. Dante thanked him and bent down to scoop up the clay.

"He's taking that home?" Fletcher asked, eyeing the mound in disgust.

"Dante here is a bit of an eccentric. Wouldn't you say so, Dante?" Gordon asked, chuckling.

"You could say that," Dante retorted with a grin. He stood up, clamping the lid down on the box as he shook Jim's hand. "I'll see you tonight then, Jim. Seven, right?"

"Yep, seven. Just say you're here to see Gordon and they'll send you in."

"Got it. Take care, Jim." He nodded a farewell to the two other officers and ducked out of the convenience store.

"What an oddball," Fletcher muttered.

Montoya shrugged. "I don't know. He's kinda cute. Did you see his car?"

"Exactly," Fletcher said with a laugh. _"Oddball."_

Gordon shook his head. "He may be a bit eccentric, as I said, Fletcher, but he's anything but an oddball. I'd even say he's a better crimefighter than me." The commissioner strode out the door, soon followed by his two companions.

* * *

**A/N: Hello everyone! We're nearing the end of the intros, only a few more left to get through. I think I'll try to binge them out while I've got the free time, so keep your eyes open, because there may be some more posts today! This chapter introduces Dante Herald, an alchemist with a friendship with Commissioner Gordon. Leave your thoughts on the character and the chapter in the reviews, and let me know how you all like the story so far! Again, thanks to all of you for your support and loyal following. I'm glad you're enjoying it! Until next time.**


	13. Chapter 12 - Alex Mercer

**Chapter 12 - "Alex Mercer"**

Alex Mercer sat in the lobby of Gotham Hospital, waiting on his best friend, Scarlet Brody, to finish work. Thumping his fingers on the arm of his chair, Alex waited impatiently. At seventeen, he had yet to fully get a grasp on letting patience take predominance. He was working on it, but it hadn't yet taken its full effect.

He glanced down the corridor where Scarlet always came from when she signed off for the day. Also seventeen, Scarlet was a part-time med student who split her time working at the hospital with her classes at a prestigious private school in Gotham. She had started going there when she received a number of invites for excelling in her schoolwork. Wanting to get a break from her hometown, she agreed and moved to Gotham.

Alex and Scarlet had known each other for about a year. They were good friends, but they had an introduction that most friends never had.

Everything began before Alex and Scarlet had even met each other, about four months before then. Alex had been sixteen, and he was the son of the scientists Adam and Susan Mercer. They were working on a serum that they called the Soldier X serum. It was created to prevent deaths from various means, including cancer, Ebola, and other viruses—and even other dangers.

Alex rubbed at his eyes as he remembered back, trying to keep from drifting into sleep. He would be able to stay awake long enough for Scarlet to enter the lobby. He would. He had to. He wouldn't let anything—

Before he could finish the thought, Alex had slumped over and fell asleep.

* * *

He remembered it like it was yesterday. Sixteen-year-old Alex, his neatly combed blond hair, ambling into his parents' lab. "Hi, Alex," Susan Mercer greeted him pleasantly. He walked up and kissed her cheek.

"Hey, Mom. Where's Dad?" Alex asked, leaning up against the counter.

Susan nodded into the test room, where Adam and Susan would test their different scientific creations and serums to make sure that they worked properly. The Mercers were the top scientists of Wayne Enterprises, head of the lab division. They worked closely with the head of the tech department, Lucius Fox, and even though they had sparsely seen him, they did have a budding acquaintance with the CEO himself, Bruce Wayne.

Bruce had seemed to be more relaxed and cooler than Alex had anticipated when he first met the CEO. He had anticipated someone to be running the most prestigious company in Gotham to be older, regal and more sophisticated, not someone who was just twenty-three. Bruce had an air about him of someone who took his position with ease, absorbing the glamor of the title billionaire playboy for all it was worth. He had small talk with both Alex and his parents, something Alex never would've anticipated coming from _any _CEO, but especially the one of Wayne Enterprises.

Alex was about to ask his mom something when the door to the test room opened and Adam Mercer stepped out. Sporting blond hair like his son, Adam removed the goggles and revealed his green eyes, a contrast to the dark blue that Alex had inherited from his mother. "Hi, Alex. How was school today?"

"Fine. As much as school can be," Alex said with a grin. "How's the Cure for All Diseases coming along?" It was a name he had jokingly tagged to the serum. In all honesty, he had sincere doubts that there was _any _cure to such things as cancer, but he was adamant that if anyone could come up with it, it was his parents.

"You joke now, son, but it won't be any laughing matter when it actually pays off and works."

"I know, Dad," Alex sheepishly muttered. "No, really, how's it coming along?"

Adam opened his mouth to speak. "Well, pretty good as of the moment. I've just got a few kinks to work out and then—"

He was cut off by the beating of what sounded like helicopter propellers outside. They were very close, and as Adam stepped towards the window, he saw a black helicopter hover into the air. "What is th—" he started before he caught sight of the gun barrels coming from the side.

"Susan, Alex, _get down_!" he yelled, diving for cover behind a table. Susan grabbed her son and yanked him down, and they both cowered beneath the countertop.

Gunshots erupted as a volley of fireworks as glass shattered, fragments of it and bullet casings peppering the room. The helicopter's propellers were now as clear as day, no longer inhibited by the window's dampening effects.

The clanking of equipment and the padding of boot soles caused Alex to turn his head, but he was still to frightened to peer out. Susan held him tight, as if she was afraid that he might actually try it.

"Secure the area," a raspy voice said, as if muffled by something, like a mask. The footsteps soon padded as they covered the entire area around the lab. Eventually, a figure rounded the corner. The man was decked out in an all-black uniform, with a parachute strapped to his back, a ski mask over his face, and a submachine gun in his hands, held at the ready.

"Over here!" the man called, glancing to his left. Slowly, a pair of footsteps drew closer until the black-suited man stepped away, in his stead a man clad in an all-white suit of clothing. Over his face, he wore no ski mask. It was a mask, all right, but one mirroring a black skull.

"What do we have here?" It was the raspy voice that had ordered the room to be secured, Alex realized.

Hurriedly, Susan held a hand up. "Please, whatever you do, don't hurt us. Take whatever it is you came for."

"We'll be pleased to do just that, if you'll just direct us to your serum."

Susan and Alex both froze. This man knew about the serum? How?

"Who are you?" Susan asked, confused about the whole situation.

The raspy voice echoed into a laugh, then he said, "Call me Black Mask. That's all you need to know." He bent forward, his eyes—the only human thing about the face—right before Susan's. "Now, where is the serum?"

"In the test room!" Adam called out, jumping to his feet. Two of the uniformed men rushed forward, pushing him to his knees.

Black Mask surged towards the captured scientist. "And just where might that be, Dr. Mercer?"

Adam eyed the man warily, unsure of who this man was or where he had come from. He nodded to the doorway. "In there."

Black Mask gestured to one of his men, who took off into the room. A few moments later, he returned, holding a bottle, with a sterilized needle attached to it. The man handed it to Black Mask, who took it. "This it?"

Slowly, in defeat, Adam nodded. "Yes. That's it."

Alex could imagine the sadistic grin behind that awful skull mask. "Good." Immediately, Black Mask's wrist snapped up, gun wrapped in his hand, as a loud _boom _echoed with a flash, and Adam twisted and convulsed, blood spraying from his face. Alex's mouth dropped as he watched his father's lifeless body collapse onto the ground, crimson staining the white lab coat he wore.

_"Dad!" _he yelled, charging ahead. Before he could even make it past the counter, Black Mask spun around and fired another shot. It caught Alex in the stomach and he staggered back, grabbing ahold of something, anything, to break his fall. He barely heard his mother cry out his name.

Susan started for her son, and another shot sounded. She fell over, not even able to reach Alex's crumpled form that lay only feet away.

Black Mask stood in silence as his men watched the scene that just unfolded before their eyes. They didn't seem at all fazed at the cold-blooded deeds their boss had just committed. "To the helicopter. We have to get out of here before—"

"Look out!" one of the men shouted just before a nimble, black shape slammed into him, sending the man careening and his gun flying into the shadows. Black Mask's enforcers brought up their guns, ready to fire, but froze when they saw the figure before them.

It was a thing they thought had been created as a tool by the GCPD to fuel nightmares in criminals' minds, but no. The Batman was real, directly before them. Standing taller than any single man in the room, the masked vigilante eyed them all through white slits that appeared almost mechanical, shining an eerie bright light. Besides the square gap that revealed the smooth, clean-cut lower face of the wearer beneath the mask, all that shrouded those two white eyes was black, which ran up into two pointed ears branching from each side of the helm.

The figure was decked out in black Kevlar body armor, covering every inch of his body. Wrapped around his waist was a bronze-colored utility belt, which held items that the killers could only dream of.

Only one thought passed through Black Mask's mind as he took in the caped figure before him: "Kill him!" He and his men raised their guns, opening fire. Batman ducked, moving faster than any man humanly should be able to. He leapt up, leading with a gloved fist that cracked one of the gunmen's jaws. As the man shrieked, he toppled over and his weapon flew from his grasp.

Batman dropped down low, dodging another man's fire, and then he spun around, grabbing the shooter by neck and holding him in front of him, to dissuade the others from firing. It didn't work; the others just let their guns open up, and Batman moved just in time to avoid being nicked by the bullets that tore through their comrade's body.

By the time, the man had dropped, Batman was already upon Black Mask. He had wrenched both his gun and the serum free and thrown them aside. Black Mask grappled with the masked vigilante, but it was a losing fight, even he would admit. One of Black Mask's thugs jumped into the fray, swinging a razor-sharp knife at the caped attacker. Batman released Black Mask and ducked, dodging the knife as the man ran forward, swinging the blade wildly. Batman ducked and dodged again before he grabbed the man's wrist, squeezing until the knife fell free.

"Get out of here! Go, go!" Black Mask yelled, gesturing to the helicopter and rushing for it. What remained of his forces followed their leader, practically lunging for the helicopter. Without even waiting for the man battling Batman, the chopper immediately tore off, flying away from the Wayne Enterprises building.

Batman flung the beaten attacker into the wall, letting him land with a thud as he fell in a cluster with the other bodies of Black Mask's henchmen. Without wasting a moment, Batman rushed to the bodies of the innocents on the ground. He checked the man, but it was no use; the bloodied hole in his face and the lack of breathing showed he was dead.

The vigilante turned and knelt beside the woman. She was in bad shape, a bullet hole carved through her chest. Batman glanced to the boy beside him. He was breathing, albeit slowly. Neither one had much time left.

"Batman . . ." Susan said, reaching up to the masked man who sat at her side. "My . . . son . . . you have to—_eck_—administer . . . the serum before it's . . . too . . . late . . ."

"What serum?" Batman asked, his voice coming out smooth yet deep. Susan gestured to the bottle that had fallen from Black Mask's hand. Miraculously, it wasn't broken. Quickly, Batman moved to the vial and lifted it up, removing the syringe from the bottle. As he filled it with the antidote, he asked, "What does this serum do?"

Susan coughed before she said, "It restores tissue and cells damaged by different threats; viruses, diseases, injuries." A pause, then, "It should help the gun wound."

Batman was still hesitant. "Are there any side effects?"

Susan slowly shook her head. "It has just . . . been designed to restore the damaged . . . human body. No . . . side effects."

He turned to Alex's body and rolled up his sleeve. As he readied the syringe for the injection, Batman sighed, "There won't be anymore for you if I give him this dose."

Susan only smiled. "As long as Alex makes it, I'll be okay with that." Then, only silence. Batman hung his head before realizing he had a job to do. Quickly, with no more hesitation, he injected the serum into Alex's arm, watching the fluids run through the clear tube and into the boy's body. Alex began to twitch, and his arms flexed.

Batman pressed an arm on Alex's shoulder. "Alex. Are you awake? Talk to me, Alex."

* * *

_"Alex."_

Alex almost leapt from the chair in the hospital waiting room, before he let out a sigh of relief. It was only Scarlet. "Oh, Scarlet . . . you scared me," he breathed out, chuckling.

A beautiful grin lit up a likewise beautiful face as Scarlet eyed her friend. "Sometimes I worry about you, Alex," she said with a chuckle. Alex grinned back at the red-headed girl, climbing to his feet.

"You ready for the voyage back to the dorm?"

"Not before we grab something to eat. I'm starving," Scarlet grumbled. Alex could believe it; he had eaten some hospital food while he was in recovery from the shooting. It was _terrible_.

"All right." The two walked towards the door, and Alex pushed it open. Scarlet led the way out, her green eyes glancing down the street.

"Where'd you park?" she asked, glancing the other way. Alex motioned around the corner.

"Just over here. Come on."

The two walked down the street, listening to the motors hum as cars drove past, going about their nightly business. As they walked, Scarlet gripped Alex's arm. "I did a little more digging and found something you might be interested in," she whispered into his ear as they were out of earshot of anybody who might be listening, although there was no one on the street beside them.

"I already am. What is it?"

"I'll tell you in the car."

Once the two reached the vehicle in question, they climbed inside, Alex in the driver's seat. As he cranked up the engine, he glanced to Scarlet. "So, what's this thing you've dug up?"

Scarlet pursed her lips, eyes staring in the distance as if trying to find the best way to put it. "I hacked into the GCPD computer system."

"You _what_?" Alex was both impressed and worried. Impressed that his best friend could break into the firewall system of the police department, but also worried because it was _illegal_. "Scarlet, if you get me into trouble because of this—"

"What? Batman would do it," she added with a cheeky grin.

Alex rolled his eyes. You see, the Soldier X serum wasn't entirely without side effects as Susan Mercer had predicted; it hadn't with the test subjects that she and Adam had used. Those subjects were only afflicted by viruses or disease, not an injury. Because Alex's only wound was a gunshot, he still had the strong, healthy body of a regular teenager. Therefore, once the serum had healed the injury, there was still a strong amount of power in the serum that instead boosted his strength and speed, making him a superhuman.

Alex had discovered the abilities shortly after he was released from the hospital, realizing he was a lot faster and stronger than he had been before the injury. But the first test came when he saw a girl about his age walking to her dorm from school.

Scarlet.

The moment he saw her, he was stricken. Her fiery hair could've easily been her namesake, and it was what made her jump out at him. But almost immediately once he saw her, two guys jumped out and approached her threateningly. Fearing the worst, Alex leapt into action and sent the two guys running. He never would've been able to one, much less both, prior to the injection. The serum had given him _powers_.

Alex had befriended Scarlet at that moment, and the two had been best friends ever since. Eventually, Alex became inspired to be like the man who had saved his life and secured a suit for himself, adorning it with a red bat symbol across the chest. He wore it, along with a red domino mask to cover his eyes, a dark trench coat, black boots, and fingerless gloves, as his hero suit.

Taking the name Renegade, Alex hoped he could put a dent in Gotham's crime, but his primary focus was Black Mask. He sabotaged one of Black Mask's shipment operations and nearly killed one of the criminal's goons before Batman himself arrived and stopped him. Somehow, Batman had seen through Alex's disguise and knew him for who he was.

Batman sharpened Alex's focus, conforming him to instead protect Gotham instead of fulfilling his personal vendetta against Black Mask. Alex had agreed and had kept to his promise, but he still held a longing deep inside to track down Black Mask _coincidentally._

Alex received a few training lessons from Batman and even a few gifts as well. The Dark Knight had given Alex a suit of Kevlar armor emblazoned with a red bat symbol, as well as a set of custom R-rangs, he called them—based on Batman's batarangs. Alex himself wrapped up his arsenal with a titanium bo-staff and a pair of revolvers, which fired rubber rounds to incapacitate, not kill.

Eventually, Renegade had completed his training and was ready to get to work. Per an agreement with Batman, Renegade had vowed to stick to the underworld side of Gotham; both he and the Caped Crusader felt it would be in his best interest to not be front-page press copy at just seventeen.

In the car, Scarlet was quick to lighten Alex's fears. "No, no, they won't trace it back to you. Well, to Renegade, but not Alex Mercer."

With sarcasm in his voice, Alex said, "Well thanks a lot. They're both me anyways."

He ambled the car onto the roadway and coasted towards a place where he and Scarlet had both formed a love for whenever they needed to grab a bite to eat. "Anyways, what did you find?" he asked.

"Apparently, the GCPD and Gotham's politicians are putting together something codenamed Titan in their files. I found a few emails between the commissioner and the DA. Nothing concrete, just that such a thing exists."

"Great. So it's a situation where _I _will have to make the first move, huh?"

"If you want in. And from the sounds of the whole thing, it'll be putting a real dent in Gotham's crime scene."

Alex nodded and shrugged his shoulders. "Might as well try it. Scramble the phone number and call the commissioner."

Scarlet must've been waiting for him to say that, because she immediately whipped her phone from her lap and tapped a few keys. "I already had the number scrambled," she said with evident glee. Alex couldn't help but smile at her childlike joy at this. In all honesty, he thought she might've enjoyed the whole crimefighter gig than he did. Going by the name OverSeer, Scarlet used her skills with computers and hacking to help Alex in any way that she could.

After a few rings, a worn voice answered. "Commissioner Gordon, GCPD."

Alex swallowed before speaking in a level, baritone voice. "Commissioner. I heard something about a project you're working on. Something called . . . Titan?"

Silence filled the air before Gordon's voice cut back. "Who is this?"

"You can call me Renegade. I'm . . . a friend of Batman's."

"_Batman! _Is he how you found out about this?"

Caught off-guard, Alex searched for words before replying, "Yeah. He told me that you had some information concerning a crimefighting operation that I might be interested in."

"That's funny, because Batman has been missing for at least a week." Uh oh. "No one has had any contact with him."

Alex mouthed a curse before he quickly spoke back up. "Look, Commissioner, it doesn't really matter _how _I found out, does it? Just that I'm interested. I really do know Batman; he trained me. Just . . . let me come and see what this is all about. You can talk to me, get to know me, and make your decision from there. How does that sound?" Once he finished speaking, he pulled the car into the parking lot of a local hole-in-the-wall diner, turning off the ignition.

Silence came on the other end again before Gordon sighed. "We will need all the help we can get. All right; we're having a meeting tomorrow night at seven. You come and ask for Commissioner Gordon, and they'll let you in. Okay?"

A smile crept on Alex's face, matching the one on Scarlet's. "Okay, sounds good. I'll see you then, Commissioner." Alex hung up the phone and let out a sigh of relief. "That went better and worse than I expected, but it turned out great."

Scarlet laughed, shaking her head in admiration. "Alex, you never told me you were so good at improv. You were wonderful!" He let out a slight laugh and she leaned forward, kissing him on the cheek. Slowly, Alex froze, and he bit his lip, hoping his face wasn't flushed. He glanced to Scarlet and she had a look on her face both of relief and embarrassment. "I'm proud of you," she said, grinning at him.

"And I've got you to thank for this whole thing!" Alex shot back, smiling as well. "Without you, I wouldn't be on Gotham's shortlist of heroes." The two shared another laugh before they got from the car and moved towards the diner, ready for more conversation concerning the new mission. But first, they needed some nourishment.

* * *

**A/N: Hello everyone! Here's chapter 12, which introduces Alex Mercer (Renegade) to the story. Let me know your thoughts on the new character and the chapter! Like I said, we're almost done. Only two to go now. Thank you all for being so faithful in keeping up with the story! The action will start up soon, I promise. Until next time!**


	14. Chapter 13 - Mia Andrews

**Chapter 13 - "Mia Andrews"**

Mia Andrews jogged along the park track, keeping a steady pace as her red hair, cut in a red bob, bounced around her neck. She glanced slightly to her side, and whistled. "Come on, Gunny," she said, and the German shepherd followed closely, his tongue flapping in the wind. Mia couldn't help but grin every time she saw that goofy grin on her dog's face. She had always doubted that dogs _actually _smiled, but when she first saw Gunny that changed her mind.

Mia finished the lap, slowing her jog and striding to the sedan she used to ferry about Gotham. She opened the passenger door, and Gunny hopped in obediently, sitting down like dogs always sat in seats with proper manners. He was a trained dog, but Mia had never seen _any _dog—no matter how well-trained—act like a person and sit down in a seat.

As Mia moved to the driver's side, she popped the door open and climbed inside, letting out a deep sigh as she uncapped the water bottle in the cupholder beside her. As she gulped a mouthful of the refreshing liquid, she poured a bit in a metal bowl she kept under the passenger seat and sat it beside Gunny, who drank ravenously.

While the dog slurped down his water, Mia capped the bottle and sat it down again. She wiped the sweat off of her forehead, and reached for the ignition, starting up the car. At twenty-nine, Mia had already lived a full life, working as a CIA agent before retiring from the stress, moving to her current job working for a local analytics company in Gotham.

Part of her CIA routine involved her relentlessly working out and staying in shape. While she specialized in such skillsets as espionage, decryption, and other assets important to being a spy, she still made sure to be physically fit. As Samuel White, the agent who had employed her, said, you never knew when a diplomatic situation would take a turn for the worse.

There were only a few occasions when things had gone south, and she had a reminder of one such incident—a scar below her right ear. She had tried to decrypt a code when she was ambushed by a few foreign agents. She had easily dispatched two with her adequate pistol training, but the third converged before she could train her gun on him and he disarmed her. A hand-to-hand bout followed, in which Mia had been cut by the man's knife before she turned the tables and wound up sticking him with his own blade.

To this day, Mia made sure she still was in shape, despite working in a less physically strenuous field. It was a habit that she thought she would never lose. She still kept her field pistol, but rarely used it. Guns added to the reminder of the strains and life-or-death situations she had been involved in—and the lives she had taken.

Yes, the people she had killed were threats, but that didn't make it any easier.

As Mia maneuvered the car onto the roadway, she heard the telltale buzz of her phone ringing. She glanced at the caller ID before picking up and answered with a, "Hi, Veronica. How's it going?"

Mia's best friend, Veronica Haverson, spoke up on the other end. "Couldn't be better!" Uh oh. When Veronica said, "Couldn't be better," Mia usually knew what it meant.

"Not tonight, Veronica. I'm not up to it."

Veronica groaned. "Mia, you never go out when I invite you somewhere. It's just a small get-together with some friends." Then, the age-old add-on: "You might find someone you like."

"Listen, Veronica—I've been over this time and time again. When I get ready to settle down with someone, _I'll_ do the looking. I don't need a matchmaker!"

"And by then you'll be an old maid who won't have any experience." Veronica was a social butterfly, always had been since they were kids. She had a budding career as a singer but had yet to take off—but that couldn't be attributed to a lack of effort. Veronica was as hard a worker as Mia knew, and she had enough connections to make a phonebook all her own.

Just not the _right _connections, it seemed.

"Thanks for the thought, but like I said, I'm gonna have to pass. I was gonna hang out with Mom, Everet, and Mirrah tonight. I haven't been able to be with them for a bit."

"Well, as long as it's a family situation, I'll let it slide—_this time_," she added with mock frustration. Then she burst into laughter. "All right, I'll let you go, Mia. If you happen to change your mind, just call me up. You're always welcome."

"Thanks, Veronica. Talk to you later. See ya." Mia hung up the phone and placed it down, glancing to Gunny, who was watching her with big eyes—and a big smile. Mia couldn't help but brighten whenever she saw the German shepherd. "So, Gunny, you excited for tonight? You'll get to hang out with your aunt, uncle, and grandma." She affectionately thought of Gunny as her little baby, even though he was _technically _the man of the house.

The dog just kept on smiling and watching her. Mia kept smiling as well as she turned back to amble down the road. Within a minute, she had pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex. After opening the door, she led Gunny out and made her way to her apartment. Had to clean it up before her family came over. Her mom, Chelsea, had planned to come over that night at six, which gave Mia two hours to get showered, dressed, and clean up a bit. Her mom was going to bring Mia's younger siblings, sixteen-year-old Everet and thirteen-year-old Mirrah, with her. It had been at least a week since Mia had seen any of her relatives, not counting the oldest of her siblings, twenty-three-year-old Hannah. Mia and Hannah didn't hang out as often as they used to, as Hannah was married and was supporting her husband through college. Because of the hours and constraints of married life, Hannah had been unable to meet with Mia as often. Their only interactions really came in the form of meetings for lunch or dinner, when they were both free.

Mia led Gunny into the apartment, closing the door and locking it behind her. She unlatched Gunny's leash as the dog tore off, certainly to find one of his misplaced toys. As his claws padded on the tiled floor of the kitchenette, Mia walked towards the bathroom. After flicking on the light and closing the door, Mia stripped off her clothes and took a quick, refreshing shower.

Once she finished, Mia dressed in some casual attire—a comfy T-shirt and some jeans—and made her way to the kitchen. Gunny was curled up, gnawing on a bone he had found somewhere. Mia scratched him between the ears before she moved to the sink, washing her hands.

As she dried them, Mia heard her cell phone buzz and she quickly moved towards it. She answered the call and held the phone to her ear. "Hello, this is Mia Andrews." The voice that answered her on the other end was one she hadn't expected to hear—she hadn't heard it in a long, long time.

"Hello, Mia. How's the simple life keeping you?"

Mia grinned. "Sam! I haven't heard from you . . . what's it been, now? A year? Two?"

"One and a half," Samuel White's smooth, calm voice replied. Mia could picture him now, seated behind a desk somewhere in the depths of secret office, his gray hair combed neatly.

"What's up?" Mia asked. While she and Sam had grown to be dependable partners and even good friends while working together, she knew something had to be beneath the surface to make Sam call her up out of the blue.

A sharp inhale sounded on the other end of the line. "As you know, the CIA works in conjunction with governments from all across the United States. Well, recently we were called in to help out in Gotham."

Mia chuckled. "Gotham? What's in Gotham that could be attracting the CIA? I mean, the crime is pretty bad, but that's a given in life, right?"

"A given, yes, but one that could be helped. You see, the Gotham politicians and other higher-ups have pooled their resources to contact the federal government and ask for aid in fighting the crime. It seems something big is going in Gotham, a lot more than the proper authorities there can handle. I saw a couple papers come across my desk, and I knew how capable of an agent you were. Still are, if my hunch is correct."

"You haven't lost your touch, Sam. How'd you guess?"

"Just my knowledge of who you are, Mia. You kept a pretty tight schedule and were set in your ways; if there was something you did regularly, you did it regularly. And I don't think six and a half years' worth of training just disappears, even after a year and a half."

Mia felt her smile creep back up. "Tactical and clever as always. You haven't changed a bit, Sam. So, anyways, what else is there on this government-funded project in Gotham?"

"Well, I knew how capable you were in the CIA, so I contacted a couple of people in Gotham and told them about you, your skills, and your background. You sounded like someone they could use, I was told." A brief pause, then, "What do you think? Would you be up for another bout against crime?"

Mia sighed. "I appreciate your thoughts, Sam, but as I said when I left the CIA, this entire lifestyle just wears you down. It wore me down—_hard_. I don't know if I have what it takes to get back into again. When you fight for people as a whole, you can often go unnoticed and you feel burnt out. I don't want to feel that way again." A moment's silence crept in, bringing back feelings that Mia had tried to quell, tried to do away with when she retired from the CIA. In truth, she lacked the emotional attachment to people that she had once had. In the grand scheme of things, she viewed people as pieces in a large puzzle.

"Look, Mia—I know you enough to know that deep down, you don't mean that. Sure, living the life that we live—or lived, in your case—means sacrificing a lot. You aren't the kind of person to just give up everything, I knew that then. And I still do. But just remember, you're still young, you've got a whole life ahead of you. This project could help shape Gotham into a place where you can live without any more fears. You would be able to build these attachments that you've longed for."

Silence filled the air again, and Mia mulled over her thoughts. Answers of varying capacity filled her head, and she juggled them back and forth. Deep down, she knew that Sam was telling the truth. If she fought back against organized crime, Gotham _would _become a better place. It would be safer for Hannah as she started a family, for Everet to become a cop, for Mirrah to grow up—and for her to finally find the life she had spent years searching for.

Mia exhaled deeply, and then pursed her lips. "I'm in. Give me the details."

* * *

Harvey Dent entered Arthur Reeves's office, and immediately wished he hadn't. "Oh, dear God—what's that smell?" he spat, reaching for his nose.

"Come now, Harvey," Reeves murmured with a smile as he brushed his coal black hair over. "It isn't _that_ bad."

"You're right, it's worse," Harvey muttered, removing his hand to reveal a disgusted face. "What is it? Some kind of bug repellent?"

"No, Mr. DA, it's the best cologne money can buy."

Harvey rolled his eyes. _"Oh," _he said, as if he had to guess. With Reeves, pretty much everything outside of a press conference involved preening himself. "What, do you have a date or something?"

"A date with the most gorgeous girl you could ever meet, Harv. Long, flowing scarlet hair, the body a model would dream of—"

"Look, Arthur, I didn't come here to discuss your love life," Harvey muttered. He had grown up with Arthur and had learned to put up with the man in the past, but now he was almost unbearable. Whenever anyone attempted to discuss something important with him, he always shrugged it off in favor of his looks or something else. "We have that press conference coming up, and I thought we had better lock down a few details."

"Please, Harv, we can discuss this later. I've got more important things to worry about." Reeves finished at the mirror and turned back around. "How do I look?"

"You look fine, but your smell is questionable. You sure this stuff isn't gonna scare your date away?"

"Of course not," Arthur countered. "It's just that it's all trapped in this stuffy office. Once I get out and on the move, it'll settle and just linger on me, for us to enjoy." As he made his way towards the office door, he planted a friendly hand on Harvey's back. "Drop by my office tomorrow. We can discuss the press conference then. Sound good?"

Harvey sighed. "Sure, Arthur. Tomorrow."

Reeves clapped his hand on Harvey's back. "Good! I'll see you then. Take care, Harv." With that, he exited the office and slammed the door behind him, leaving Harvey to stroke his forehead.

"Of all the friends I had growing up, why was Arthur Reeves the one who decided to enter politics with me?"

* * *

**A/N: Hello everyone! Sorry for the delay, but here's chapter 13, where you get introduced to our second-to-last character, Mia Andrews. What'd you all think of her and the chapter itself? The story is shaping up, and we have just one more intro to go. And then it's the meeting. I look forward to the adventure that's to come! Hope you all enjoyed it, and as always, leave your thoughts in the reviews. Until next time!**


	15. Chapter 14 - Emily Thomson

**Chapter 14 - "Emily Thomson"**

Walking briskly, Emily Thomson strode down the busy sidewalk of the Gotham street, making her way to the motel she called home. Her adoptive father, Albert Langdon, ran the motel with his wife, Grace—well, Grace primarily ran it. Albert had taken a back seat to work on his inventions and . . . _other _projects.

Even with all the bustling people moving past her, Emily didn't ever flinch when an elbow almost caught her head or her stomach. She didn't need to.

For all intents and purposes, Emily was invisible to the world. Not necessarily invisible as in she disappeared from all visibility—only from the visibility of others. She could remove herself from the perception of others, meaning they could not see her, and she could also remove herself from the physical realm, so she was practically untouchable.

The downside to her ability to remove herself from being seen and touched by others was that she couldn't do it for more than a minute. That's why she moved at such a brisk pace. Once the minute was up, she'd have an hour of what she called a "cooldown," and then she could do it once more. She always made sure to save it for this time of day: the walk back to the motel from the library she frequented.

Emily enjoyed getting out whenever she could; she definitely was someone who was a "people person," and she loved to socialize. The problem was, whenever she would be pushed into an uncomfortable situation, Emily tended to fall back on her ability as a reflex and disappear from the perception of whoever she was with. This provided a problem in numerous facets, but especially in building relationships with others.

Emily turned the corner onto the street where the motel was located. Thankfully, there were very few people on the street as she rounded the corner and they were all busy with other activities, so she was able to reappear without drawing anyone's attention.

As she moved down the street, Emily shifted the hood of her jacket to cover more of her face. Rain was beginning to fall, and Emily wanted to make sure she was covered by the hood. Her jacket and trousers were made of a waterproof—and otherwise durable—material that protected her from rainfall and other obtrusive hazards.

The clothes—and other gear—had been _borrowed _from the Gotham branch of STAR Labs. It had been much easier to slip in than she'd anticipated; the higher-ups were busy with some conference with some rich guy from out-of-town. She had been able to take more than what she had anticipated, outfitting herself perfectly.

Emily made her way to the back door into the motel, where she always entered. She didn't like coming through the front door generally. As she gripped the door handle, Emily entered the back room and beamed when she saw Grace and her six-year-old daughter, Jill, were seated. They both glanced up to see the adopted member of their family entering.

"Hi, Emily!" Jill shouted, jumping from the table and throwing her arms around Emily. Emily dropped the backpack she was lugging to the ground and got to one knee, enveloping Jill in a tight embrace as she drew down her hood, letting her black hair fall just past her shoulders.

"Hi, Jill. Grace," Emily greeted, getting to her feet. She grabbed the strap of her backpack and carried it along with her. "What're you two working on?" she asked, eyeing the table.

Jill pointed to a piece of paper that was streaked with lines and shapes that created four figures. "I was drawing a picture of you, me, Mommy, and Daddy! See?"

Emily took the piece of paper in her hands and eyed the conglomeration of scratches and colors, and she gave a nod of approval. "Not bad, although I think you got me a little off." She winked at Grace and added, "I think the girl in your picture is much better looking."

Jill shook her head. "No, she isn't!" Inside, Emily beamed; her approval of Jill's drawing had been accepted without a second thought. Even though she was ten years older than Jill and had had no experience with younger siblings before moving in with the Langdons, Emily was a natural at keeping them positive.

The front door of the motel clanged open, and Grace peeked out. "I was just about to take Jill to her room. Could you do that while I take care of this customer?"

"Sure," Emily replied, slinging her backpack over her shoulder as Jill interlaced her right hand in Emily's left, and grabbed her paper and colored pencils with her left. "Come on, Jill. Wanna play with Vivi?"

Jill anxiously nodded, and the two exited the back room with Grace, who moved to the check-in desk to handle a dark-haired young man who was waiting patiently. His eyes caught Emily's, and he offered a charismatic smile. Emily smiled back and felt a hint of color rush to her cheeks. The guy turned his attention back to Grace as Emily led the way to the wing of rooms that served as the family's bedrooms, Jill following close behind.

Emily opened the door to Jill's bedroom and led her inside. "All right, put your pencils and things away and I'll go get Vivi." Jill nodded and went to carry out the orders she was given as Emily left the room and shut the door. She made her way to her bedroom, which was just across the hall from Jill's. She entered and looked for the usual spot where her Siamese cat, Vivian, rested.

Sure enough, Vivian was curled up and lifting a sleepy head to eye the teenage girl who had just entered. "Hey, Vivian!" Emily greeted, stepping towards the cat. Vivian got up on all fours and stretched, letting out a purr as Emily scratched her behind her ears. Then, Emily picked her up and cradled her in her arms. Planting a kiss on the top of Vivian's head, Emily led the way back to Jill's room.

Immediately as she entered, Jill was up on her feet. "Vivi!" she cried out, rushing to Emily with open arms. Emily closed the door behind her and sat Vivian on Jill's bed. The little girl reached over and stroked Vivian's head, and the cat rolled over and continued purring.

Emily glanced to the piece of paper and started talking on it again. "This _is _good, Jill. Maybe you'll be an artist when you grow up."

Jill shrugged her shoulders as she stopped petting Vivian, who immediately narrowed her eyes once the comfortable scratches stopped and sat on her rump. "I don't know. Maybe." A few seconds passed, and then she said, "Why did you smile at the boy in the lobby?"

Emily froze in place. _Uh oh. _"Um . . . what do you mean?"

"I saw him smile at you, then you smiled at him. Do you think he's cute?" As she asked the question, she scrunched up her face as if in disgust.

Emily rolled her eyes. "Look, Jill, I just smiled at him. It doesn't mean anything."

"Uh-huh," Jill said indignantly.

Emily chuckled. "You shouldn't even be talking about this. You're only six!" She stepped to the bed and scooped up Vivian. "Do you have any schoolwork?"

Jill huffed. _"Yes." _

Emily smiled. "You'd better get to it, then." Jill groaned and went to grab a stack of papers and a textbook as Emily exited the room, calling back, "Come get me if you need help." As she shut the door, she went back to her room and plopped Vivian on the bed. The cat eyed her thoughtfully, and Emily rolled her eyes. "I wish you'd stop looking at me like that."

The stare remained.

"Look, I know that _you _think you're the most important thing in the world to me. But that just isn't true, okay?" _Maybe not, but she is in the top five. But she can't know that. She'll get even _more _unbearable._

Vivian kept staring, and then finally relented and curled up, her chest heaving softly. Emily let out a slight chuckle as she reached for her pocket, withdrawing a smartphone from her pocket. The phone was personally tailored to suit Emily's needs; it had a black market app that allowed her to eavesdrop, and one that could hack electronics.

Emily used her powers on the side to help thwart crimes, and she always took a portion of the spoils for herself; she dubbed it her "fee," and that had gotten her into trouble with the police on a few occasions. Still, she was proud of herself. She had been able to teach herself how to use her abilities, hoping to one day strike back at the gang that had killed both her parents and her uncle, forcing her to take refuge with the Langdons, family friends, when she was twelve.

As Emily scrolled through her phone briefly, her door cracked open and Grace stuck her head inside. "Dinner's ready, Emily."

"All right," Emily replied, tucking her phone into her pocket. "I'm coming." She exited the room and shut the door behind her, following Grace and Jill to the room that served as the dining room for the family. Albert was already seated, his hands folded together. He smiled and nodded.

"Hi, Emily. Anything exciting happen today?" he asked, scratching his graying brown hair.

Emily shook her head. "Nothing to speak of. You?"

Albert slowly nodded again. "You could say that. I'm almost done with the piece of tech I've been working on for Wayne Enterprises."

"That's good," Emily commented as Grace slid a plate of food to her. The smell was enough to get Emily's taste buds ready. Grace had to be the best cook Emily knew, and she tried to learn as much as she could from her.

"Yes, but it's not the exciting thing that happened," Albert continued. He paused, then looked to Grace, who returned the look. "Today, when I was discussing this piece of tech with Lucius Fox, the head inventor in Wayne Enterprises, he mentioned to me that Gotham—the city government—is working on an initiative to fight crime."

The family had already begun to eat, and Emily paused. "Like . . . superheroes?"

"Not necessarily," Albert continued. "There are some people who they've reached out to with powers, but others are just skilled, ordinary people." He paused briefly again, searching for the proper words. "Grace and I were invited on."

"You were?" Emily asked incredulously. The couple wasn't necessarily old—Albert was thirty-seven, and Grace was about that age herself—but they didn't come across as being in the crimefighting age to Emily. "I didn't mean it that way . . ." Emily started to correct herself, realizing she hadn't said it in quite the best way.

Albert grinned. "Don't worry. We sort of thought the same, and I told Lucius as much."

"Wait—you told him? What happened to keeping our powers secret?" Emily asked, eyeing both Albert and Grace suspiciously.

"This was a special occasion," Albert replied. "Besides, Lucius is a good friend. He invited me initially on my skills as an inventor alone, but when he did, I told him about my powers."

Emily slowly nodded. "But if you both think you're too old, then why are you bringing it up?" Albert and Grace exchanged another glance, and then Emily's eyes widened. "Wait—you mean—?"

Jill piped up loudly. "Emily's a superhero!"

"What? N-no, no I'm not!" Emily cut in. "Are you serious? They want _me_?"

Albert sighed. "Not initially, because you're only sixteen. But I told Lucius about your powers and your skills, and he talked to some people and they agreed." He looked into her eyes. "In short, yes, they want you for their team."

"Now, you can take all the time you need—" Grace began, but Emily was already grinning from ear to ear.

"Me? Fighting criminals?"

"As Grace was saying, you can take all the time you need—"

"Oh, I don't need to. I _want _to do this. Badly."

A brief pause and another eye exchange between Albert and Grace, and then Albert spoke up again. "Are you certain? You don't need to decide right now."

"No, no, I am. I definitely am."

Albert grinned. "I can't say I'm necessarily upset at the prospect of having my daughter being a crimefighter, but I will say be careful and please—take fewer risks."

Emily felt a tinge of red touch her cheeks. She had been known for skimping on her battle plans in the formulation stage. "I will, don't worry." She eyed Grace, who was sitting in silence. "Grace? Aren't you going to say anything?"

Slowly, Grace lifted her head and offered a slim smile. "Isn't it funny? I'm sort of on the flipside of the coin here. I can't help but feel a bit worried."

Emily reached a hand across the table to clasp Grace's as Albert spoke up. "I never thought I'd see the day where Grace would be the one who'd want to back out of a noble calling." His smile slowly faded, and he added, "But I'm serious, Emily. We're both very proud of you. You still have a few kinks you can work out in your powers, but overall, you're a much greater master of your abilities than either of us ever were, even in our prime."

Emily grinned. After a few seconds of silence, she said, "So . . . when does this all happen?"

* * *

**A/N: Well, here we are everyone. The last character, Emily Thomson, has been introduced. The meeting will be the next chapter! I'm so excited to actually begin this adventure. I hope you all enjoy it. Also, if any of your submitters have anything else you'd like to see changed or potentially show up for your OCs, feel free to let me know through a PM. Leave your thoughts on this chapter and character in the reviews, and I will see you all next time.**


	16. Chapter 15 - The Titan Movement

**Chapter 15 - "The Titan Movement"**

Sean stepped from the black and silver '68 Hurst/Olds Sport Coupe, slamming the door shut. Letting out a sigh, Sean lifted his eyes up to the building before him. The GCPD complex was bigger than most police departments, at least those Sean had seen. It looked to be four or five stories, and that's discounting the possibility of lower levels below the streets.

Honestly, Sean didn't know why the GCPD needed such a large building. Sure, Gotham was huge and all, but there weren't a huge amount of cops hired—probably because many had been killed by gangsters, and there weren't enough brave citizens to step up and take their places.

It all didn't really mean much to Sean. He pushed the thoughts out of his mind. He was here for one purpose and one purpose only: find out what this "solution" was exactly.

Sean entered into the complex, glancing around nervously. He had no cause to be; he hadn't done anything wrong, but he always had this nagging feeling that he was being lured into the GCPD to be arrested for something.

Once he stepped into the lobby, a female desk cop glanced to him and offered a smile. "Hello," she greeted, then added, "what can I help you with?"

Sean shoved his hands into his jacket's pockets, his trademark grin plastered across his face. "I'm here to see Commissioner Gordon. About some—"

His Irish accent only seemed to increase the size of her grin before he mentioned Gordon. When he did, her smile snapped away. "Oh! You're here for the Commissioner's little . . . _project_, with the Gotham bigwigs."

Sean gave a slight nod. "Yep. That's it."

The cop nodded back and got to her feet, pointing to an elevator. "If you go in the elevator and take it, go to floor three and look for the conference room. Room two-nine-nine."

Another flash of his grin, and Sean was on the move. "Thank you." As he strolled past, the door clanged open behind him. While he was walking to the elevator, he glanced over his shoulder and saw a young woman rushing in. He could tell she was pregnant. _Wonder what a pregnant woman's gotta do with the GCPD._

Sean walked into the elevator and reached for the panel inside when he heard the woman say, "I'm here for the meeting with the Commissioner and the others," out of breath. The female cop turned and pointed to the elevator, where Sean had just tapped the floor three key. Quickly, as the doors began to slide shut, he thrust his arm out, cutting off their closure.

The woman gave a nod of thanks to the cop and began to move towards the elevator. She flicked her dark eyes up to Sean for a second before lowering them again and whispered, "Thank you," as she entered the elevator alongside him. He removed his hand and the doors closed, lifting the passengers up to floor three.

"So, you got tied up in the GCPD's little movement too, huh?" Sean asked, turning and grinning to the young woman.

She nodded. "Yeah. I was getting worried I'd be late." She paused suddenly, and Sean scratched the mop of red curls atop his head.

"Late? It's only six-fifty-eight. You've got two minutes to spare."

"I know," the young woman continued. "But . . . I just get . . . worried whenever I run late."

A few more seconds passed before Sean extended his hand out. "Sean. Sean O'Malley."

The woman took his hand and finally settled her gaze on his eyes. "Jemima Allson."

"Jemima," Sean said, testing the name. "I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but I find it a little . . . odd that the GCPD has called upon a pregnant girl for their little team."

A light chuckle escaped Jemima's lips. "You'd think so, if I was in the middle of the action. But I'm not. That is, I won't be." She paused, then said, "I'm going to university for computer classes. I was contacted by Wayne Enterprises to use my computer skills for this movement."

The mention of Wayne caused Sean to stiffen. "Ah. Wayne."

"Yeah." She paused and arched an eyebrow, "You know him?"

"_Of _him," Sean corrected. He let out a deep sigh. "You ever wonder, sometimes, why rich people hoard up all their money and never seem to give any away to help people who need it?"

The comment seemed to startle Jemima, who searched for words. "He does give to charities and stuff, and—"

"And sleeps around. Well, not so much as some other people, but he chases women more than he helps people. At least, it seems that way to me."

An awkward silence filled the air between them, and Sean sensed it. Breaking back into his lax personality, he let out a slight chuckle. "But who am I to be bringing in my own grudges into this." He glanced back to Jemima and said, "So you work in tech?"

"Computers, yeah." When Jemima finished, the elevator door opened, and Sean gestured for her to go first. "I guess they want me to monitor computers and stuff for this little team they're putting together." She paused and then said, "If I'm not prying, what's your part in this? Like you're . . . skillset."

A light laugh escaped Sean as he said, "Well, I was injected with a mutagen when I was a kid. Helped my metabolism pace my strength and speed. They're more powerful than that of regular humans."

Jemima's eyes were widening as he recounted his skills to her. "Whoa," she finally said. "I've never actually met someone who's had superpowers before."

Now _that _elicited a laugh from Sean. "I don't know if I'd quite call 'em superpowers. I can't fly or anything or shoot lasers from my eyes."

Jemima chuckled along with him as Sean eyed the door numbers. "Ah. Here we are. Conference room." He gripped the door handle and opened it up, and Jemima led the way inside. Sean followed, closing the door.

Words couldn't describe the feeling of awkwardness that Sean felt as he and Jemima entered the room. All chatter between the inhabitants stopped and all eyes it seemed fell on them. He felt as he did in school, whenever he came into class late and the teacher was prepared to scold him.

The teacher in this case would've been the man who was without the trench coat he generally wore while on-duty. Commissioner Gordon had a tan button-up dress shirt on with the sleeves rolled up, and a red tie loosened around his neck. His arms crossed, Gordon turned to the two newcomers and smiled.

Sean kept from withholding an arch of his eyebrow. Gordon _smiled_ at him? He must really be desperate. "Everyone, this is Sean O'Malley. And you must be Jemima Allson, if my reports are correct," Gordon said, shuffling papers in his hands.

Jemima nodded. She was evidently too embarrassed to speak, standing before a crowd of strangers. Sean couldn't blame her, really. He'd be the first guy to crack a joke among a large gathering he felt in power of, but when he was in a room full of strangers, he'd sooner jump out the window then offer up a speech of greeting.

"You two may take seats at the conference table," Gordon added, gesturing to the long table sitting before them. A quick count told Sean that there were twenty-one chairs pulled up around the table. Of those twenty, all but five were filled. Quickly, Sean moved towards a chair next to a guy with long brown hair. He gave a brisk nod to the man and a smile before he took the seat. Jemima sat down between two people, a dark-skinned man with a close-cropped beard and clad in a black business suit and—

_Oh, no._

The other guy sitting next to Jemima was big, and it looked like he might either fall out of the chair or break it, then fall out. Sean withheld the scowl coming to his lips to meet the one that the guy was giving him.

The guy was Harvey Bullock, a detective who had been the one to put the cuffs on Sean when he was arrested. Normally, Sean would've been able to fight off a cop, but first off, he didn't know Bullock was there. Second, when he heard Bullock scream out, the next thing he knew a bulldozer—or maybe just a bull—had rammed into him, sending him sprawling to the asphalt. Then what felt like a thousand pounds came upon him, grinding his face into the cement, screaming, "Don't move, punk!"

He'd recognize the guy anywhere.

Gordon stepped towards the table, taking the seat at the end of it, next to Bullock and a shaggy-haired guy with a beard. Gordon slapped the papers vertically onto the table, straightening them out. Clearing his throat, Gordon looked back and forth between the different people around the table. "It looks like all but two are accounted for," he said, before he turned to Bullock. "I think we can take care of one of them now."

Bullock gave a curt nod and climbed from his chair, moving to another door at the other side of the room. Popping the door open, he called out, "Bring her in!"

He stepped back to his chair as one cop stepped in, and following him was a tall, green . . . girl?

At least it _looked _like a girl. She was well over six feet, and her hands and feet looked to be slightly enlarged. Her hair was long, green, and stringy, like seaweed.

Sean scratched at his chin. It should've hit him well before then, but that was the moment he realized that this was going to be an interesting meeting. A _very _interesting meeting.

* * *

Renee Montoya was sitting her patrol car, leaning back in the seat. To her right, Wyatt Fletcher let out a sigh. "This is the most boring stakeout I've ever been on," he muttered.

Montoya chuckled. "This is your first stakeout, Fletch."

A moment of silence passed, and Montoya held back the urge to laugh. "Oh, yeah," Fletcher muttered after realization set in. "Still, this is the most boring day I've had as a cop."

Montoya almost retorted how Fletcher had only been a cop for a few months, but she withheld it. She had already picked on her young partner enough for one night. Leave him be, she figured.

"You can say that again," was all she said. She reached for the radio at the car's console. "I'll call in and see if we can get a break from—"

All of a sudden, rip-roaring shredding noises filled the air. Montoya knew the sound: machine guns. _"Get down!" _she yelled, and she and Fletcher both ducked just in time to avoid the flurry of bullets tearing through the windshield and ripping the headrests of their seats to shreds.

Fletcher breathed a curse as he snapped his sidearm free. "Where'd they come from?!" he yelled, and Montoya shook her head.

"I don't know!" she yelled back, twisting on the key in the ignition, gunning the car's engine. She didn't even know what to do or how to get out of there. She just knew she had to do _something_.

It was uncomfortable to manage, but she was able to pump the gas after shifting the car into reverse. She heard the tires spin against the pavement as the car zoomed backwards, stopped by a forceful crash into some solid surface.

"We're stuck," she spat, and Fletcher flung the passenger door open. "Fletcher! What are you doing?" Montoya yelled, and the young cop glanced back.

"We've got nowhere to go, so I'm gonna at least find out _where _they are and let 'em know we aren't sitting ducks!"

Before Montoya could shout back, Fletcher crawled from the car. He aimed through the crevice between the door and the car and squeezed the trigger, sending several rounds blaring through the space before him. More machine gun fire tore through the air, splintering against the car. Fletcher dove for cover just in time.

By this time, Montoya had wrenched the radio free. "This is Montoya—we're pinned down at the stakeout. It was a setup; I repeat, it was a setup!" Only static answered.

Montoya froze. "The radio . . . we've got no signal," she muttered, and Fletcher's face turned pale. Montoya glanced to him, and saw the look of fear etched into his face. The look of death.

* * *

Annalise had been grateful for the relief the entry of the two newcomers had provided. The guy who had taken the seat next to her—he gave his name as Clyde—was dressed to fit the picture of a cowboy, complete with a hat and the revolver slung to his hip.

He was giving her the full routine, laying on his southern charm hard. She appreciated the playful flirting at first, but it kind of had grown old after a little. The entry of the newcomers, and the green girl afterwards, had opened her an escape route away from the conversation she had been growing bored of.

She knew that she was getting involved in a wide group of people, but she hadn't been expecting such a variety. She had never seen someone quite like this green girl, even in all her time living in different eras. She knew such people existed, mutants between humans and otherwise, but she had never seen someone like this in person.

A couple people she had known from before the meeting. Mayor Hamilton Hill was someone she had not personally met, but know of him and his dealings. She thought positively of him overall, but she couldn't help but feel that he wasn't doing enough to help Gotham over his own political security.

The other two Gotham politicians were also acquaintances of hers. She had met both at galas Bruce had held before. Harvey Dent, the DA, was someone that Annalise viewed with tentative trust. His charm seemed genuine, as did his optimistic plans for Gotham. But the other one . . . Arthur Reeves—he made her skin crawl.

Sure, she did divulge in flirtatious banter, but when and with who _she _wanted to. Reeves had been like a wild dog, not leaving her alone at the party she had met him at. She almost punched him square in the face if Bruce hadn't pried him away. For that, she was thankful.

Gordon she had known about for quite some time, and respected him for his work. The detective he had with him she hadn't met before, but he seemed like a rather brusque person. And lastly was someone she did know, probably best of all those in the room: Lucius Fox, one of Bruce's closest friends and one of the highest-ranking members of Wayne Enterprises.

She had spoke with a few of those present, and from their first encounter, she seemed to get along with pretty much everyone. Even Clyde, despite his overly flirty introduction, seemed like a nice guy. She had spoken to a girl named Aria, who was there with her father. She had caught Annalise's eye because even though she was as old as Annalise looked, she required use of a cane. Through what she was able to learn, Annalise hadn't quite pegged the reason why yet.

The thing that probably jumped out most at Annalise was how young most of them looked. Beyond those who acted as the heads of the operation, all the members looked to be still in their younger years. The oldest one, if Annalise had to guess, would be the shaggy-haired, bearded guy who sat next to Gordon. He didn't necessarily look old, but he seemed to be the most level-headed and mature person of the bunch.

But all but maybe four of the members still looked to be in their teens, or at the very least early twenties. The guy who sat next to Gordon, the redhead who came in later, Clyde, and a young woman with a red bob haircut who kept to herself all seemed like they were at least mid-twenties or older. Everyone else looked like a kid.

_Well, I imagine I do, too, _Annalise thought to herself. She had to keep reminding herself that even though she had been around for over five hundred years, she looked like she had barely been around for two decades. It would be quite strange, considering she felt more like she would be acting like a mother figure to them than a peer.

When the police officer had brought the green girl in, audible gasps sounded around the room. Annalise withheld any sudden movements, but she did feel a twinge of a smile at her lips when Clyde gave a start in the chair next to her. _At least his mind's on someone else now._

"Everyone, this is . . . Vermin," Gordon said slowly, standing to his feet. Annalise could feel her heart begin to quiver for this girl. The name alone seemed like a cruel trait of her; she wondered if the girl had called herself this, or if it had been assigned to her by someone else. "She's one of the two missing members of our team. She's stayed around the GCPD for a few days."

The girl—Vermin—stepped into the room and took a chair quietly. Her eyes wandered, taking in the looks she was getting from everyone spread around the table. Annalise tried to offer a smile when the girl's eyes passed hers, but she didn't know if she caught it.

Gordon checked his watch. "Our other member should be here soon. If not, we may have to begin without him. Hopefully he arrives soon."

* * *

Romero gunned the engines of the motorcycle he used to ferry himself across Gotham. _I'm late, I'm late, I'm late._

He hadn't intended to be late; the chips sort of just fell that way, and it couldn't be helped. He risked a glance at the clock mounted on the motorcycle; 7:15. He huffed out a breath and idled the bike down the next turn. He should be there within five minutes—barring any unforeseen hindrances.

There was quite a fuss that had been put up by the other members of his gang when he and Jace informed them of the invitation he had gotten. At first, no one really seemed to mind that he had been elected the unanimous messenger between them and the GCPD meeting. They were actually glad.

But then, right before he left, Cathy approached him and suddenly began to insist that she go along too. Romero had spent fifteen minutes telling her that he was fine doing this on his own; he didn't need a babysitter to guide him by the hand. But Cathy—mindful, sweet Cathy—felt that it was too much of a risk. What if it was a trap, she had said. What if the GCPD had tabbed them for pulling the crimes they had committed. But Romero had been adamant in his belief that the GCPD had been honest and they were overlooking their criminal pasts.

At least he hoped so.

Romero parked his motorcycle outside the GCPD complex, and rushed inside. After explaining what he was there for, he followed the desk cop's instructions and rode up in the elevator. Once he reached the third floor, he sped along until he reached the conference room. He entered slowly, fulling expecting the rush of awkwardness once he set foot inside.

And boy, did it arrive.

Immediately as he stepped in, Romero felt all eyes on him. What little color there was rushed to his cheeks, and Romero closed the door behind him. Then a neatly-dressed man with graying hair got to his feet and gestured to the table. "Romero Fenwick, I presume," he said. Romero knew who the guy was right off the bat. Commissioner Jim Gordon.

Romero nodded, and Gordon kept his hand up in a gesture to the table. "Have a seat, Mr. Fenwick."

Romero walked down the side of the table until he came to the last open chair. It was next to a girl with a hood pulled over her head. Her eyes were boring into Romero as he sat down next to her. He flashed her a smile, and she gave him the shadow of one back.

"Now that we are all here," Gordon began, "we can get on with business." Romero glanced about at the faces around the table. Most eyes were back on Gordon and off him, but he saw a guy with a hat—he looked like some modern-day cowboy—sitting next to a beautiful, orange-haired girl staring at him, as if he had never seen someone like him before.

Probably hadn't.

Romero tried to ignore the guy's gaze as he swept his eyes across the table. There were several people his age, perhaps even younger. One girl, with shoulder-length black hair, looked like she might've been like sixteen, about Felix's age. He imagined Felix having been chosen as the representative for the gang. _That_ would've been a disaster.

Gordon gripped the stack of papers in his hands firmly. "I'll quickly go around the table and introduce everyone here. Some of these people you may know, others will likely be new to you."

A red-haired guy across the table from Romero cracked a smile and said with an Irish accent, "I feel like a lad back in play-school. What are we gonna get little name tags and pin 'em to her shirts?" The guy's joke broke the tension, eliciting laughter from around the table.

"I think we can manage without name tags, Mr. O'Malley," Gordon said, himself smiling. He gestured to himself. "For those of you who don't know me, my name's Jim Gordon. I'm the commissioner of the GCPD." Next, he motioned to a big guy slouched in a chair beside him. "This is Detective Harvey Bullock. He'll be present for many of our missions and the like. He's one of the best cops in the department.

"This," he said, gesturing to a dark-skinned man in a suit, "is Lucius Fox, representing Wayne Enterprises. Wayne Enterprises has kindly funded a large portion of this movement to operate. Mr. Fox has been personally assigned to help with any technological issues and to provide us with any tech, if we need it.

"Of course, the next man is Mayor Hamilton Hill. He needs no introduction." The mayor gave a brisk nod. Romero eyed the mayor with contempt. He couldn't help but feel that the city might be better off if someone else was running the show. What had Hill done in his time in Gotham? Let the crime families run rampant?

"Then we have District Attorney Harvey Dent and City Councilman Arthur Reeves." Romero eyed the two men in question, sitting next to one another. He had heard of both guys, and found them both to be a little too . . . optimistic. Especially Dent. Reeves was more of a philanderer who filled a political office.

"Lastly is Spencer Saint-Claire," Gordon said, gesturing to a middle-aged guy sitting next to a teenage girl. "Mr. Saint-Claire won't be with us for every meeting. He came tonight to help his daughter, Aria. Spencer is a coroner at the Gotham Hospital."

Once Gordon finished, he dropped a stack of papers down and held the rest of the sheets in his hands. "Now, you all are going to have a lot of time to get to know one another and each other's ins and outs, pros and cons, strengths and weaknesses, all that. This is just going to be a brief introduction, so you all know one another and what you do.

"First up, Dante Herald." Gordon gestured to the man sitting next to him, with shaggy hair and a beard. "Dante's a private investigator who deals in alchemy." Romero raised a curious eyebrow. Alchemy? He knew there was strange stuff in the world—from personal experience—but magic?

"As I already mentioned, Aria Saint-Claire is attending a local college, working for a major in biology." The next member of the team that was introduced was a slim girl, with caramel-colored hair that framed a face that contained both American and Asian features. She looked about shyly, offering a small smile.

"This is John Bridgeman," Gordon continued, gesturing to a guy with long, brown hair. John lifted a hand and waved it, a smile appearing alongside. "John works at a karate studio, but don't think _Karate Kid _or anything. This is the real deal. He's an experienced fighter.

"Next, as you have all been unofficially introduced to him, is Sean O'Malley." The red-haired Irish guy who'd made the joke earlier still had the same grin on his face as Gordon stumbled for the right words. "Mr. O'Malley is . . . he's a skilled fighter who's seeking to earn money to help his sister." The way he said it hinted at something beneath the surface. What was it, Romero wondered.

"This is Matt Kattegat," Gordon continued, pointing to a guy who looked close to Romero's age. He had blond hair and looked to be well-built, almost like a jock. "Matt is adept in different forms of fighting." Gordon spoke of Matt in a low voice, as if he was searching for a way to cover up something. Romero felt a burning desire to know what the secrets were about each of this people.

"Next is Annalise Blackwood," Gordon said, nodding to the attractive, freckle-faced girl with orange hair. She gave a charismatic smile that made Romero flutter inside. She had to be one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen. "Miss Blackwood works at a museum and inspects different artifacts. Bruce Wayne himself is a good friend of Miss Blackwood's and recommended her for hiring." A grin licked at Romero's lips. _Good friend indeed_, Romero thought.

"Then we have Clyde Darby, a cowboy right out of his own time." Gordon was addressing the guy with the hat who had stared at Romero when he came in. "Mr. Darby has served as a police officer but now travels about, doing work wherever he can find it.

"Then we have Emily Thomson," Gordon said, and the girl he was speaking of was the one Romero thought looked to be the youngest one present. "Emily is the adopted daughter of a skilled inventor—among other titles. She possesses a similar skillset."

"Nansi Kuwes is our next team member," Gordon continued, nodding to the hooded girl beside Romero. He flicked his eyes to her again, and this time some light was peeking beneath the hood. He could see her face better, and even though it was pretty, she seemed to be attempting to hide it behind a shroud of mystery. "Miss Kuwes is a newer resident of Gotham. Like several others, she is an adept fighter with some unique abilities as well.

"Next is Romero Fenwick. Romero," Gordon began, eyes on Romero, "is member of a group of . . ." He searched for the right word to use, and Romero suddenly began to suspect the occupations of some of the other members of this team. _Are half of us criminals? _Romero wondered with amazement. ". . .youths who, again, are skilled at fighting, among other things.

"This is Mia Andrews," Gordon continued, pointing to a young woman with red hair held in a bob cut. "Miss Andrews served for several years in the CIA before moving her skills elsewhere. She was personally recommended for the team by her former employer.

"Next is, as you have all been introduced to, Vermin. Not much is known about her, but she has agreed to help us in our movement." The person in question was a green-skinned girl. Romero eyed her in amazement. He thought he had been given the short end of things, but at least he still retained some human qualities. This girl . . . she looked almost devoid of human characteristics.

"Next up is someone we only know as Renegade," Gordon said, gesturing to a guy wearing what looked like Kevlar armor, and a red domino mask over his eyes. _Guy looks like a Batman fanatic_, Romero thought. "As I said, we don't know much about Renegade, but he says that he has been personally trained by the Batman himself." _Interesting._

"And lastly, we have Miss Jemima Allson. And before anyone asks, yes, Miss Allson is pregnant, and no, she will not be fighting on the frontlines. We have a nice, safe job for her, working the technology and computers of the Titan Movement." Light laughter filled the room as the young woman in question, with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, glanced around nervously.

"I think that does it with introductions. That brings us to the purpose of this . . . the Titan Movement. As you have likely heard through the news sources, the Batman has disappeared. Because of this, crime has begun to pick up once more and we have nowhere near the amount of manpower to stop it. And there's been no contact with the Batman for a while. We fear the worst has happened.

"Through funding provided by different organizations—local businesses, the federal government, et cetera—we have been able to pool our resources to create this movement. You each will be paid a hefty sum for your services, weekly—as long as you carry out your agreement and do your work. If you go AWOL, don't expect payment.

"Now, as for the enemy we will be fighting: you all have been told that this has been organized to fight the Falcone crime family and his new benefactor, Oswald Cobblepot, a former businessman turned crime boss. These organizations have almost unstoppable power. They have the latest equipment—guns, cars, you name it. We have to put a stop to them and keep them from fulfilling their plan, whatever it may be. You will be supported by the GCPD in all efforts. That's why we are spearheading this movement.

"We hope that you will all work together and get to know one another. It's possible that this will go on for months, so it's best that you all become good friends and know you can trust one another. Don't let any petty grievances come between you, or us. We're all working on the same side here: for the greater good of Gotham City. The government has a strong supply of funds so that we can do this fight the right way."

Sean piped up. "Are we gonna get some spazzy suits or something? Show we're all a team?" It was clearly meant as a joke, evidenced by the smile on Sean's face, but Gordon took it at face value.

"No, no uniforms, Mr. O'Malley. You all will be wearing your general clothes—with the proper armor, if the need shall arise. Which it probably will." Gordon then stopped and let out a deep sigh, looking to the different leaders at the table before he finally opened his mouth to speak again.

"The primary cause you have been called together is to keep Gotham safe from the crime families. But . . . there's something _else _you have been called together for." The gravity was beginning to weigh down. "There's a creature flying around, a mutated creature—something half-bat, half-man."

"You've gotta be kidding me," a southern-accented voice cut in. It was Clyde, the cowboy guy. "A bat creature? First we have a bat man, and now a bat _thing_? Sure."

"It sounds unbelievable, I know, but we have proof of it. People have been killed by something—eaten alive. And from different sources, we have found traces that draw back to bats."

"Like what?" This guy wasn't giving up.

"The fang marks. They are the same kind as a regular bat, just . . . larger. Much larger."

"Are you sure it isn't a vampire?" Clyde asked, a grin on his face. Annalise swatted him on the arm and went, _"Ssh!" _Clyde just grinned and shook his head.

"Like I said, I know it sounds unbelievable. But when we get closer to it, we'll put our heads together and figure it out. Until then—"

Suddenly, the door into the conference room banged open. "Commissioner!" a cop yelled, standing in the doorframe, panic in his voice. "Our stakeout at the warehouse near Ace Chemicals; it was a setup. Our guys got lit up. One of the cruisers on patrol heard machine gun fire. They need backup _now_."

Gordon glanced to the officer and then nodded. "All right. Roll as many units as you can."

He turned back to the table. "Well, our meeting was pretty much done anyways. Come on. Time for your first exercise."

* * *

**A/N: Here we go, the beginning of the real story. A quick sidenote: I will try to shake up the central characters in each chapter so everyone gets their fair share of time in the spotlight; it'll be much easier now that everyone's been introduced, it's just a bit tough when you start out writing a chapter when no one knows each other. So, what'd you all think of the meeting? I know not too much "action" happened, but our characters all got introduced, in some capacity. I look forward to continuing on! And don't worry, the next chapter will feature action and some more relationship-building moments between our characters. Leave your thoughts in the reviews! Thank you all for reading. Until next time.**


	17. Chapter 16 - Playing With Fire

**Chapter 16 - "Playing With Fire"**

_BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!_

The gunshots sounded in the night as the bullets tore through the car's windshield. Montoya was hunched down behind the car, gripping her right bicep. She peeled her hand away and saw the layer of slick crimson coating her palm.

She had been shot while scrambling from the vehicle. When she fell, Fletcher had rushed to her side and he was hit. Now, he was down behind the car. He wasn't moving, aside from the occasional heave of air pumping through his chest. At least he was alive.

Montoya turned around and squeezed the trigger, sending shots flying through the air. Another shot came at her, cracking a dent into the hull of the car. She ducked back down and breathed heavily. Things were not looking good.

The other car that had been on the stakeout with her and Fletcher was actually the first target of the shooters. When she had crawled for cover, Montoya looked to the cruiser. Once she saw the blood splatters on the windows and no other movement, she knew what the officers' fate was.

While she fired, Montoya heard the revving of an engine behind her as tires squealed on the cement. Then, the telltale siren wails filled the air. A hint of a smile—of relief—pulled at her lips. Backup had arrived!

The cruiser tore into the parking lot, and the doors flung open. An officer crawled from each side, and immediately they started to fire. One of them called out, "Montoya! Are you all right?"

"I've been hit, and so is Fletch!" she yelled back, and the officer nodded.

"Hang tight—backup's on the way."

* * *

Gordon had to quickly make the arrangements to get the Titan Movement to the scene of the shooting. Of course, Jemima was ordered to stay at the complex, which she had planned on anyways. Lucius Fox was going to help her get a rundown of the technology in the Movement's command center, which was a renovated wing of rooms for various meetings, conferences, and briefings.

Hill, Dent, and Reeves were in a conference; Gordon figured as much, a fight wasn't really their place.

"Bullock, prepare a SWAT fireteam. Sounds like a real fight's going on down there," Gordon ordered, and Bullock took off down the corridor to carry out the Commissioner's commands. Gordon turned back to see the other thirteen members of his new team, who were all watching him.

"So, how exactly are we gonna do this? Are you driving? Do we each drive? What?" Sean asked, crossing his arms.

"If you've got your own vehicles, you can drive, carpool, whatever. Just get to Ace Chemicals pronto. I need to secure a few things with Bullock before I head out there."

"Then what're we waiting for?" John said, cracking his knuckles. "Let's get out there."

Sean raised an eyebrow. "You're Irish too, huh? All right, I'm calling it—our team color should be green."

Gordon shook his head, and muttered, "We don't _have _a team color."

"We'll sort out the team color later, all right, boys?" Annalise cut in, putting a hand between Sean and John. "Right now we have more important things to do. Now let's go!"

She took off, leaving John and Sean to watch her leave before exchanging a glance. "Who does she think she is, our mother?" Sean retorted before he and John followed behind.

Spencer and Aria moved slowly, and Spencer placed a hand on Aria's shoulder. "Aria, are you sure—"

"Yes, Dad, I am." Aria turned and smiled at him. "I'll be all right. With all the others, why would they focus their attention on me? I'm a much smaller target."

"But still—" Spencer started before Gordon walked up and cut him off.

"She'll be fine, Spencer."

At that moment, Clyde walked up. "Whoa, whoa, whoa—_she's_ going on missions? She's just a kid, and she's got that cane."

"How'd you like me to shove this cane up your—"

"Aria!" Spencer cut her off, before Gordon sighed.

"Look, Darby, she'll be able to take care of herself." With a little chuckle and a knowing glance to Aria, he added, "She probably could take you on."

Clyde eyed her warily, then let out a nervous laugh. "Yeah . . . sure. Well, ma'am," he started, turning on the southern charm full-throttle, "could I be so generous as to offer you a ride?" As he finished, he gave a tip of his hat.

Aria held back from laughing at his country-boy persona. "Sure." She turned and gave Spencer a quick peck on the cheek. "I'll be all right, Dad. You'll see."

She then started to move along, using the cane to walk, as Clyde followed close by her side. Clyde turned and caught sight of Matt moving for the door as well, about a dozen feet ahead of him. "Hey, kid—you need a ride too?"

Matt looked to Clyde, and then to Aria. "Actually—I have a ride. Thanks for the offer though." He quickly burst out the door, and Clyde gave a slight chuckle. Once they got on the street, though, Matt was gone.

"What in . . . Didn't he just walk out this door?" Aria gave a short nod as Clyde scratched under his hat. "Huh. That's weird."

As they left, Gordon patted Spencer on the shoulder. "She'll be all right, Spence."

Spencer slowly nodded. "I know. But it's hard . . . letting her go off like this."

"I know the feeling. If I told Barbara I was chairman of something like this, she'd probably be nagging me about it every minute of the day. That girl's obsessed with fighting crime."

Further down the hallway, Vermin stood in silence, glancing about as if she had nowhere to go. Cautiously, Mia approached her. Emily was following close behind; Mia had invited Emily to ride with her, and she had agreed. Now, Mia was going to try and see if Vermin would ride with them too.

"Hey—you need a ride?" she asked, brushing a loose red curl from her eyes.

Vermin sniggered. "I guess so. I haven't been in a car in who knows how long. I've mostly traveled by foot."

Mia gestured to the door. "Come on. You too, Emily." The three took off for the doorway, busting out and rushing for Mia's sedan. Already, Sean had taken off in his car, and Clyde had followed with Aria. Annalise and John were climbing atop their motorcycles, and Romero was beside his. Nansi made it to the parked bikes last, where her Ducati Scrambler was parked.

When she walked up, Romero glanced up. As silence filled the air while she moved to her bike, Romero snapped, "Hey—Nansi, right?"

Nansi looked to him, her head snapping quickly, as if she wasn't aware he was there. "What? Oh, yeah—Nansi. Romero?"

Romero grinned. "Yeah. Nice bike."

A slight grin cracked Nansi's lips. "Thanks."

John and Annalise, noticing the awkward exchange, shared a glance before John said, "Y'know, people might see us all taking off and think we're some kind of biker gang."

"A biker gang?" Annalise said with a laugh. "Tell me, do we look like bikers?"

John chuckled. "No. Not especially."

The four climbed on their bikes and followed behind Sean, Clyde, and Mia's cars, flying down the Gotham roadway.

Dante was speaking with Gordon as he was moving for the exit. "A quick question, Jim: how exactly are we going to keep things . . . low-profile? A team of fourteen people with superpowers waging war with the crime syndicates—it doesn't scream _subtle _to me."

"I know what you mean," Gordon said, shaking his head. "Mayor Hill's supposed to make some kind of addressal to covertly 'announce' the Movement, but I have a feeling people may know about it before then, if things get loud tonight."

Dante opened the door and laughed. "Trust me—they will."

He exited the building and ran for his VW Bug, leaving the last member of the Titan Movement to step away from the shadows. Alex Mercer—better known as Renegade to his teammates—reached to his utility belt and withdrew a grapple, firing it to the top of a building. As he landed, he activated his earpiece and said, "So, did you get everything?"

"Sure did," Scarlet answered on the other end. "I knew that the GCPD didn't have the most secure computer system, but you'd think the one in their super-secret conference room would be locked down pretty tight."

"You just can't be beat, Scarlet," he replied, grinning. He fired his grapple again, arcing around a building and landing on a low-hanging rooftop. "You're gonna have to give me a layout of Ace Chemicals. What's the best vantage point?"

"There's a guard tower that overlooks the parking lot. That should be your best place."

"All right. I'll let you know how it goes."

"Okay. Alex . . . just be careful, okay?"

Alex smiled slightly. "You know me, Scar."

"I _know_, that's why I said it."

Alex laughed lightly. "I give you my word: I'll be careful."

* * *

Matt had shadow-walked from the GCPD complex to the Ace Chemicals warehouse once he stepped outside. But one look at him wouldn't have caused you to think it was the same young, blond kid from the meeting at the HQ.

When Matt used his powers, his entire body was shrouded in darkness—nothing was visible but the outline of his nose, meaning his mouth, eyes, hair, all of it was gone. He just looked like a black shadow, albeit dressed in a maroon dress shirt, with a black business suit, shoes, and gloves.

Matt sat in the shadows of the Ace Chemicals watchtower, biding his time. The guard there, a big, burly guy, would occasionally crackle his radio to life, sending a report to someone who was located elsewhere. Matt was waiting for the opportune time to strike.

The guy shifted, and his thickly accented voice said, "No, nothing yet. Looks like their backup's a no-show." The accent was the giveaway that Matt needed to reveal the guy as one of Falcone's thugs. "Heh," the guard laughed. "We'll kill 'em all when they get here. Just you wait."

As the radio sputtered into silence, the guard let out a deep sigh. Matt knew now was the time to strike.

He faded away into the night, shifting into the shadows within the watchtower, directly behind the guard. Reaching out with his mind, Matt gazed at the guard's radio. Suddenly, it began to spark and shattered in a burst of electric energy.

"What the—?!" the guy yelled as the radio blew into a bundle of energy, shocking him. As he shrugged the wreckage of the radio aside, Matt took his opening.

First, one black appendage—almost like a tentacle—rose from the darkness, made of pure dark energy itself. It groped towards the guard as a second one followed close behind. As the guy kicked aside the pile of scrap parts, muttering about the possibilities behind its malfunctioning, one tentacle snapped around his face, acting as a gag as it wound itself around his face.

As the man's muffled screams sounded, the second tentacle shot out and grabbed the man's waist, and the two tore mightily. The muffled noises continued as the man disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind only the sounds of the sickening snapping of bone and flesh as he was torn apart in the darkness.

His work done, Matt stepped from the shadows, looking about with composure. He stepped onto the overhang of the watchtower, eyeing the carnage below. He could see the flares of light from gunfire, as the shots pocked two police cars near the entrance to the lot. No one was firing at the third vehicle; Matt could guess why.

As Matt watched, he heard the snapping of metal behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see a figure coming over the railing—it was a figure clad in black Kevlar armor with a red bat symbol on his chest and a red mask over his face.

Renegade.

"Who are _you_?" Renegade asked, hand lingering over a revolver at his hip.

"Don't worry. It's me. Matt Kattegat."

Renegade slowly nodded as he dropped to his feet. He glanced about, then said, "Were there no guards?"

"One."

A pause. "Where is he?"

"He's . . . taken care of."

Renegade continued to look around. "There's no body. . . ."

"I said he's taken care of."

Renegade slowly nodded. Obviously, he was a bit put-off by Matt's personality. He seemed a little . . . off. Different from the happy-go-lucky, boyish personality he normally exhibited.

"The others here?" he asked, stepping to Matt's side. Matt shook his head, and then a _BOOM _sounded near the parking lot entrance.

"Never mind. I think they're here now."

Renegade and Matt glanced to the entrance, where Romero gunned his motorbike into the lot. Two guns strapped to the side of his bike were firing, forcing the figures mounted across the lot to scatter for cover. When they moved, Matt saw them.

"I see them." He pointed to a ridge atop a warehouse. "Right there. Some are going for the staircase that leads inside."

"Let's go prevent them from pulling of an escape," Renegade said. Matt nodded.

"Sounds like a plan."

* * *

Romero spun to a stop, jumping from his bike as he crouched down behind the police car where two injured cops were hunched down.

"Who are you guys?" a female cop asked, clutching her injured arm as she eyed the four newcomers climbing from their motorcycles.

"Gordon sent us," Annalise answered for Romero. She took more care with her bike, settling it down easily. John and Nansi disembarked from their bikes as they crouched down. "We're his little Titan Movement."

The cop nodded. "I was wondering who our backup would be. Name's Montoya," she said, turning back around. "So . . . what do you guys do?"

Annalise nearly opened her mouth to answer before a quizzical look appeared on her face, and she glanced at John. He arched an eyebrow before he slowly said, "Um . . . honestly, we didn't talk about that part." He glanced to Romero and prodded, "What do you do?"

Romero let out a wary laugh. "Trust me, I don't think you wanna know."

More gunfire came from the warehouse. The gathering ducked down, and it was then that Annalise saw Fletcher, who was starting to stir. "What happened to him?" she asked.

"He got shot," Montoya muttered as Romero crept past her, aiming a pistol he had drawn. He quickly fired off a volley of shots.

Romero glanced over his shoulder to John, Annalise, and Nansi. "Do you guys have guns, or am I the only one?" The others all shrugged, and Romero sighed. "Great. Just great."

"If you want me to deal damage, I'm gonna have to get in close," Nansi finally said. It was the first time she had spoken since arriving, and it caused the others to look at her as if they forgot she was there. "I'm . . . more close-quarters friendly."

"Me too," Annalise cut in.

"Same." John moved towards them, then cast a glance at Romero. "Do you think you can cover for us?"

Romero grinned as he drew a clip from his belt. "Just give me a sec to reload."

As Romero loaded his pistol, Sean's car sped past the police car at the entrance. Dante's Bug, Clyde's sedan, and Mia's sedan all followed close behind, just at a much slower pace. Sean swung his car so it was parked parallel to the warehouse and he slowly got out, eyeing the warehouse as he cocked his pistol.

Annalise, John, and Nansi ran towards the warehouse as Romero kept firing, providing cover. He finally got up to go before Montoya stirred and the two cops at the backup car moved towards her. "Who are these guys?" one of them asked as he knelt by her to offer help.

Montoya shook her head. "I have no clue. But let's hope Gordon got the right bunch."

As Sean raised his pistol, Annalise, John, Nansi, and Romero arrived. The others all unloaded from their vehicles while Annalise strode up and planted her hands on her full hips, adopting a commanding posture. "What was that? You sped in here like Custer in his last stand. If you keep it up, you'll wind up like him too."

Sean offered up his usual grin. "Calm down, sweetheart. I only make dramatic entrances; when I clear a place, I do it carefully."

Annalise rolled her eyes at his flamboyance as she nodded to Clyde. She flashed him a smile. "Good sir, would you like take point?"

Clyde tipped his hat. "With pleasure, ma'am. And please—it's Cly."

As he stepped towards the door, Emily glanced around cautiously. "Um . . . who's gonna watch the roof?"

Dante glanced up and a grin cracked his face. "I think that's taken care of." The others looked to see Renegade's silhouette grapple to the roof.

"Batboy's going on the roof alone?" Romero said, smirking. "He's got more guts than I thought."

"Or less brain," Mia retorted.

Suddenly, a boom sounded from the window above, and glass sprinkled across the parking lot as gunfire flared. "Take cover!" Cly yelled, squeezing the trigger on his Glock. The others with guns drew them and fired while they all rushed for the entry to the warehouse.

They all stopped short and Dante wiggled the door handle. "Locked," he hissed, glancing to the others. "Anyone got a lockpick?"

"I know how to use one," Romero said, "but I've got none on me."

John smiled. "Give me just a sec." He held his hands together and closed his eyes, deepening into thought as frost blew from his mouth. Suddenly, appearing in his hands, was a lockpick—made of solid ice.

"Did you just . . . make that? Out of ice?" Dante questioned. He was obviously intrigued; he was an alchemist of course, but being able to summon ice to create objects?

"Yeah," John said with a grin.

"So that's what you do, huh? Make little ice sculptures?" Clyde asked, his own sarcastic smirk adorning his face.

"Among other things." Annalise eyed John curiously as he passed the ice lockpick off to Romero, who crept down by the door and started to twist it inside to find the tumblers. There was something more to him . . . something Annalise could almost _feel_.

As Romero fiddled with the lock, the gunfire stopped from up above. Mia, who had been keeping her pistol aimed at the area, glanced over her shoulder. "They've stopped firing," she muttered. "That lock almost open?"

"Give me . . . just a second," Romero got out between gritted teeth. Finally, the lock snapped and the doors slowly flew open. "Here you go," he added, holding the pick out to John.

John grinned and said, "I don't need it back," as the pick dissolved into a wisp of mist and frost. John entered first, followed by Annalise. The others slowly funneled inside, one by one.

"They could be anywhere, so watch yourselves," Aria commented. The others cautiously looked around, and Sean pointed to a staircase.

"Here's one way up," he said, and Vermin gestured to another.

"I'll go this way." She sniffed, then added, "I can smell them up there." Vermin quickly darted for the stairs, hurrying up.

Cly shook his head with disgust. "Does that thing give anyone else the creeps, or is it just me?"

"She's a _girl_, not a _thing_." Annalise huffed as she started for the stairs. "I'll go with her. Sean, Mia, Dante, and Romero, come with me. The others, you all go up the other staircase."

"Yes, _ma'am_," Sean said with a cheeky grin as he led the way behind Annalise up the stairs. The others quickly followed behind.

Clyde turned and surveyed the group with him. Cockily, he said, "Looks like I'm in charge. Follow me."

John laughed. "Whoa, whoa, whoa—who said you were in charge?" Then, he brushed past Clyde and ran up the stairs. Clyde stepped up again, before Nansi cut him off. The same process followed with Emily. Clyde started again before Aria started moving, and he sighed.

"Go on," he reluctantly grumbled, bringing up the rear.

* * *

On the rooftop, one of the two guys was peeking over the lip of the roof before he grumbled, "Where'd they go? We're missing all the fun."

The other guard snorted. "Just be glad we aren't the ones getting shot."

Before another word could be uttered, a dark figure appeared on the ledge. "Who's that?" one of the guards spat, and the other answered by drawing his firearm and firing.

The figure leapt over and dodged the shot before he drew dual revolvers from his hips. He squeezed the triggers repeatedly, and the shots hit both guards—but only incapacitated them. The bullets were made of rubber.

One of the men yelled in anger and charged at the figure, picking up a crowbar. The figure holstered both guns and his hands returned, this time grasping a bo-staff. The figure ducked the man's first attack and slammed the end of the rod into the man's gut. He spun the staff around, cracking it across the man's skull.

The other guy aimed his weapon and waited until his friend was out of the way. But he never got his shot; out of the dark sprang two tentacles that wrapped around his ankles. The man screamed and fell to the deck, and he was turned around and slowly pulled into the darkness. "No . . . no . . . _nooooooo_!"

Renegade lowered his staff once his man was down, turning to the source of the scream. His face watched in a mix of awe and disgust as Matt stepped out of the dark. "Did you just . . . _kill him_?"

Matt shrugged. "I did what had to be done."

Renegade shuddered as he moved towards the door into the warehouse. Matt opened the door and gestured inside. "After you."

* * *

John rounded a corner and ran right into a big thug. The guy turned, his breath stench like the smell of rotten fish and his body covered in all sorts of ghastly tattoos.

John backed into the others behind him. Cly let out a nervous laugh. "You . . . uh . . . got any other powers there, John? Or do you just make up lockpicks for fun?"

John sniggered and whispered, "Just shut up and watch."

The big guy let out a snigger of his own as he cracked his big knuckles, and John responded by holding his right hand out to his side. Gradually, ice began to swirl until it clumped together into a solid rod, and then the clumps branched out before forming a long, sharp end.

It was a sword.

The big guy's eyes twitched and, before he could move, the sword flashed before his eyes and tore through his chest. The guy fell over against the floor. John strode past, and Cly stared, openmouthed.

The others moved past him, and then a shout came from the end of the hallway. Four more of Falcone's thugs spread out, one drawing a chrome pistol from his waistband. The others wielded an assortment of close-quarters weapons, from chains and knives to crowbars.

John turned and swung his sword in his hand before Aria stepped up. "Let me take care of these guys," she said. John glanced over and saw her mouth twitch up in a mischievous smile.

"Um . . . sure."

Aria stepped up before her allies, and she tossed her cane aside. She closed her eyes and pictured in her hands two different things. In her left hand, she saw a bow—the arm bones forming the main part of the bow, a piece of the intestine forming the string. In her right, she saw a twisted knife—some bone ground to a sharp, pointed end.

Then she opened her eyes. The bow was in her left hand, the knife in her right.

She glanced over her shoulder to see Cly watching her. His face was shriveled in disgust. "What?" she said, flashing a cheeky grin. "You've got 'em inside you, too."

Cly leaned over to John and whispered, "I think this girl has some problems."

"As long as she takes care of these guys," John replied, "I could care less."

The thugs at the end of the hallway seemed to be confused as well, unsure if this small teenage girl was an actual threat or just some practical joke.

Aria quickly answered their question. She snapped her arms up and drew an arrow back on the bow. She let it fly loose, and the shaft buried itself in the first guy's chest.

His allies drew back, amazed. Aria took her chance and charged ahead.

Even though her nervous system was in pain for the better part of the day, when she used her powers, Aria could move without feeling pain. She just had to do it with caution—she knew that the pain afterwards was gauged on her activity using the ability.

The guys turned back, and the one with the gun opened fire. She ducked and avoided the shot, and by that time was upon him. She slammed the knife into his throat, and he gurgled before blood spat from his mouth. Withdrawing the bone blade, Aria ducked a swing of another man's knife and plunged her own into his stomach.

The last guy raised his crowbar to attack, and Aria simply brought up her knife to block it. She then pictured another knife in her free hand and used it to skewer him in the belly.

Aria stood in the pile of dead bodies and the growing pool of blood. She huffed and puffed, turning to the others. She shrugged. "So, what'd you think?" She walked towards them, sending her knives back. Immediately as she did so, her legs grew weak—her entire body did. Then, she collapsed to the ground.

John, Cly, Emily, and Nansi rushed to her, and John dropped to his knees beside her. "Aria? Are you okay? What happened?"

Aria slowly glanced up. Weakly, she said, "I—I'm okay. Just . . . my re . . . coil . . . ."

"What're we going to do with her?" Emily asked, kneeling beside John. He sighed.

"I don't know. We can't just leave her."

Emily glanced up. "I'll stay with her."

"You sure? I'd imagine you would like to show off your own powers."

"Powers? What do you mean powers?" Cly asked, crossing his arms. "Do you all have superpowers or something?"

"I think that's pretty obvious, isn't it? Pretty much everyone here has powers."

"Well, not me," Cly said with a laugh. "I thought this was some vigilante gang, not a Batman fan club."

Emily ignored Cly's remarks. "It'll be okay. We'll have other missions." She nodded to Aria. "Right now, we need someone to take care of her. Shouldn't we have a motto or something—'No man left behind'?"

John grinned. "I like the way you think." He got to his feet. He turned to Nansi. "You lead on."

"Her? Why's she leading now, and not me?"

John thumped Cly on the arm. "You said yourself that you've got no powers. I wanna see what she's got. Now come on, let's go."

* * *

**A/N: Hello everyone! Here's chapter 16, the beginning of the first exercise. I wanted to kind of use this first exercise to allow our characters to get to know one another, both personality and power wise. I'm liking the dynamics we've got between the characters! Next chapter should finish up the first exercise, and then give us some downtime to spend with the team while they _aren't _fighting. Anyone have any ideas for what they could do in their downtime? I'm open to suggestions! I hope you all liked this chapter, and I'll see you in the next one! Until next time.**


	18. Chapter 17 - Ambush

**Chapter 17 - "Ambush"**

"Vermin! Wait up!" Annalise yelled, the girl's name sounding odd coming from her lips. Again, she wondered if the name was one she had chosen herself or if it had been assigned by someone else.

Vermin froze on the stairs, glancing back to the others. Annalise, Sean, Mia, Dante, and Romero stopped behind her. "We've gotta take this carefully," Annalise said firmly, looking to her companions. "You never know when we'll walk into a group of them."

At the top of the stairs, Vermin sniffed and then turned her head slowly. A grin curled at her lips. "Like that?"

The group all followed her to the top of the stairs, where they saw a cluster of armed thugs—some with guns, others with melee weapons. Annalise slowly nodded. "Yeah. Like that."

Without waiting, Sean pushed Annalise aside and his sidearm rose in her place. He squeezed the trigger and one of the thugs doubled over, blood spurting. "Go, go, go!" he yelled, rushing for cover behind a metal container.

Once they got inside, the group realized the room was some sort of shipping area; the metal crates confirmed that much. Mia crouched down beside Sean, who fired several more shots. One winged a thug, and Mia fired and downed him. Sean grinned and glanced to her. "Nice shot."

Mia barely seemed to notice. "Thanks," she muttered as she gripped her pistol with two hands and picked off another thug.

Vermin, Annalise, Dante, and Romero slid behind another crate. Romero peeked out and squeezed off a few rounds before he turned back, reloading the pistol. "So . . . I'm the only one with a gun? Again?"

"There are other methods of fighting," Dante replied casually, and a mystic spark appeared in his fist. Romero caught glance of it, and before he could question, Dante stepped into the open and held both hands out before him, palms outstretched. As if to show one such method he was speaking of, Dante sent fireballs at the thugs.

One of them saw the balls of fire headed his way, and seemingly froze out of shock. Before he could move, one of the fireballs slammed into his chest. He began to scream out of anguish from the flames, and one of his nearby companions helped out the best he could—the man waited until his ally was near a window and kicked him out of it.

"They look like good friends," Romero remarked with a snort as Dante moved further up in the room for cover.

Vermin snarled. "Magic and guns are overrated," she spat out before letting out a husky laugh. "Brute strength is more my style." She quickly tore off towards the group of thugs, and Annalise yelled her name and reached out a hand.

"I'd better go help her," she muttered aloud and followed closely behind while Romero got up, firing off another shot before Vermin was in his line of fire.

On the other side of the room, Sean spat a curse. "What're they doing? Why'd they get in our way?"

Mia ignored his remark. "Relocate," was all she said as she moved behind them, and Sean took her cue and followed closely behind.

Vermin charged forward, her enhanced speeding a surprise to her attackers. One of the thugs charged forward, swinging a crowbar wildly. Vermin snapped out, her left hand wrapping around the guy's wrist. She spun his arm aside, and a crack sounded as the bone broke. He screamed as he lost grip on the crowbar, and Vermin kneed him in the groin. As the guy fell down, another one ran to take his place, twirling a chain over his head.

Vermin leapt out, swinging a clawed hand. It raked across the guy's face, and he spun away, falling to the ground. She heard a sound behind her and turned to see another thug with a pipe held over his head. Before he could bring it down, Annalise came behind him, grabbed his shoulder, and spun him around, swinging up a gold-hilted dagger and tearing across the man's chest.

As he sank to the ground, Annalise whispered, "Inveti," and the dagger extended into a short sword. She swung it to slash across another charging thug across the chest.

The man fell to the ground, and Sean and Mia came past her, both of them holding their guns on the last thug. He dropped the chain in his hands, and he nervously sputtered, "Don't shoot! Don't shoot! I give up!"

Sean kept his gun trained on the guy and he muttered, "What should we do? Kill him? Capture him?"

Vermin said, "Kill," as Annalise said, "Capture." The two exchanged a quick glance before Annalise added, "We can't just kill people when they surrender."

Vermin huffed. "Fine. But I'm not dragging him behind me!"

As she stomped off, Annalise walked towards the thug. He glanced about nervously; he seemed unsure that he was actually going to survive. "Who sent you here? To do this, and ambush these cops?" she asked, her voice stern. Her forest-like eyes drilled into his own pupils.

The guy stuttered, "I—I don't know!"

Sean snorted, "That's a lie." He clicked back the hammer on his pistol; just for show, but maybe it'd help prod the guy's memory to start jogging.

"Okay, okay!" he shouted, holding a hand out to Sean. It worked. "It—it was Falcone. He said something about some chemicals he needed for some job that was going down. That's all I know though, I swear!"

"Chemicals?" Romero asked aloud, crossing his arms. "What would Falcone want with chemicals?"

"I don't know, but it can't be good," Dante mused. "Maybe his trying to create some chemical weapon."

"That isn't our department, that's Gordon's," Sean cut in. He slipped his gun to his belt, gesturing to the door. "So is this guy. Let's take him to Gordon."

* * *

The two thugs ran down the hallway, hoping to find a way out. They had been jumped by a group of three wackos, a guy with long hair and an ice sword, a girl with fierce claws, and some cowboy with two guns. They had seen what they'd done to their companion, and they didn't want to be the next to succumb.

As they rounded the corner, the first was met with the crack of a staff against his chin, sending him sprawling into the wall. The second raised up his gun before dark tendrils groped around his neck and pulled him into the shadows.

From behind the second thug, Matt stepped from the shadows as Renegade stepped forward to meet him. "Nice and clean," Matt said slowly as footsteps came from down the hallway. Both Matt and Renegade glanced to see John, Nansi, and Clyde round the corner. They all came to a stop.

"So there you are," John said as he looked to the unconscious guy on the ground. "Looks like you got the last stragglers."

"Yep," Renegade replied. "Where are the others?"

"We split up," John said. "We'll go look for them."

"What about Emily and Aria?" Nansi cut in.

John nodded. "That's right." He glanced to Renegade and Matt, and then said to Nansi, "You wanna lead them to go help get them outside?"

"Sure thing," Nansi said, taking off down the hall. "Come on!"

"What happened?" Renegade asked.

Clyde answered, "Aria used her powers and it caused her to pass out or something. Emily hung back with her."

Renegade nodded and gestured to Matt. "Come on, let's go." As the two took off, John and Clyde turned the corner.

"We'd better go try and find the others," John said, and Cly nodded his agreement. The two moved along until they came across Sean, Annalise, Mia, Vermin, Romero, and Dante, along with an unarmed thug. "Who's this?" John asked.

"The survivor," Annalise answered. "We're taking him in." She narrowed her eyes. "Where're the others—Emily, Aria, and Nansi?"

"Great. Two of us are already dead," Vermin growled. She didn't sound too upset over the potentiality.

"They aren't dead," John quickly put in. "Aria used her powers and she passed out. We ran into Matt and Renegade—they're going with Nansi to help Emily get Aria outside."

They others all nodded their assent. "We'd better head outside too. Hopefully we can get all this sorted out—and find some answers."

* * *

Once the groups all left the warehouse, they reunited in the parking lot. Matt, after returning to his human form, had carried Aria outside, followed by Renegade, Nansi, and Emily. Much to Renegade's surprise, when he changed form, Matt had retained the easygoing, boyish personality he had had earlier.

Ambulances and other vehicles had arrived at the scene and paramedics were attending to the injured officers. As they had suspected, the two in the car covered in blood spatters were both dead, but Montoya and Fletcher were able to be taken to the hospital and were being treated. Gordon took the captive into custody as SWAT teams scoured the warehouse, taking care of those inside—both dead and alive.

Gordon surveyed the area. "Things got pretty sticky, but that can't be pinned on you guys. You all did really good for your first mission." A brief pause, then he added, "Did you find out anything?"

Dante stepped forward. "Yeah, Jim—the guy we captured said that Falcone had staged this operation to secure some chemicals from the factory."

Gordon stroked his chin. "That's strange . . . none of the guys you ran into had chemicals on them, and there didn't seem to be any type of escape vehicle. Almost as if they weren't even part of the chemical extraction."

"Which leads to something that's been tugging at my mind," Cly spoke up. He eyed Gordon, then said, "These guys weren't set up to steal the chemicals. They were set up for ambush. They knew that your people were staking this place out."

Annalise felt a tug of admiration for the guy. _His got some brains behind that southern charm after all._

"This is troubling," Gordon mused. "If what you're saying is right, then there's an inside man in GCPD." He noticed the group was eyeing him, and he cleared his throat. "But we can worry about this later. Honestly, I wasn't anticipating you to have your first mission on the night of the meeting, but it is what it is.

"As I said, you all did well. You all can go about the night however you wish. I'm sure this fight probably has you a bit tuckered out, but you can do whatever you have a mind to. Hang out, get to know one another—whatever. But I look to see you all tomorrow—maybe in the afternoon sometime?"

The group all gave affirmations of the idea. "Where could we hang out?" Sean asked, arms crossed.

"The GCPD has a rec hall, you guys can kind of reserve it for the night, or if you have anywhere else in mind."

"The rec hall would be fine, for an impromptu meeting," Annalise said. Gordon nodded.

"Fine. I'll see you all later then. You all have passes into the GCPD complex—the desk officer will give them to you once you get back to HQ." He gave a brief smile. "I'll see you all tomorrow."

* * *

"I can't believe they have no beer," Sean groaned as he flopped into a chair.

John chuckled. "This _is _a police station, Sean. Not a bar."

Annalise walked up and tossed a water bottle to Sean. He quickly snapped a hand out and caught it. "This'd be better for you anyways. Especially after that fight."

Sean gave her a sideways grin as he screwed the cap off and downed a mouthful. Annalise took a seat between him and John. The others were all seated next to one another to form a circle. All except Vermin—she preferred to stand, close enough to converse but still more distant than the others.

Aria let out a slight whimper as she shifted. The nerves in her body were tingling. Matt heard her and glanced over. "You okay?" he asked.

She gave a slight nod and a slim smile. "Yeah. Thanks. It'll be fine tomorrow. It takes a few hours to recover from my recoil period."

"Your recoil . . . what exactly causes it?" Annalise asked. Seeing Aria's face redden, she quickly added, "If you want to talk about it, that is. If you don't—"

"No, no, it's fine," Aria said. She looked to the others and saw all eyes were on her. It caused her to flutter a bit, but she held in her urge to crack a joke to lessen the tension and said, "My powers . . . they allow me to use human body parts to create different tools and weapons. But after I use them, that body part inside _me _will hurt. The longer I use them, the longer I hurt."

"A fitting power, your father being a coroner and all," Dante commented with a grin.

Aria nodded, and her urge to withhold a joke broke. "Yeah. When I use my powers, he always has a bone to pick with me."

"Oh my gosh," Mia groaned as Clyde snorted a laugh and the others all laughed heartily.

"Another joke-teller," Sean said, his grin beaming. "I'm gonna have competition I see."

Annalise took the reigns of steering the conversation. "What about you, Sean. What's your story?"

Sean's laugh began to fade. "Eh, it's a bit much, as I'm thirty-one, but I'll sum it up for you all."

"You're thirty-one?" Mia said, seemingly doubtful.

"Yep."

"You certainly don't look it," Mia added, and inwardly, Annalise thought, _Boy, could I floor all of them right now._ As she thought it, a flicker of an ironic smile crossed her lips.

John caught sight of it.

Continuing his story, Sean said, "Anyways, when I was a kid, me and my sister were both injected with some mutagen." A shadow crossed his face, and he continued, "My mum and da were killed. The mutagen made my metabolism a lot more . . . _stronger_. My sister's, too. Only I was able to process mine better. My sister . . . hers put her into a coma."

A silence fell over the room. "I've been bouncing around ever since, trying to earn money to pay for doctor treatments to help her get better."

No one said anything, but their looks all conveyed to Sean that they thought his intentions were noble. He was putting his powers to use to help his sister.

Sean scratched at his head. He had begun to feel a bit dreary—he didn't know if it was recollecting his past, the fight, or a combination of the two. But he knew he felt down. "I hate to be the bearer of a sad story and then just cut out, but my lack of energy is beginning to nag at me." He downed the last but of his water bottle as he got to his feet.

Stepping from the group, he flashed a smile to them all. "I'll see you all tomorrow. Maybe we can get together somewhere with something a bit better than water to drink." With that, he gave a slight wave, strode to the door, and tossed his empty bottle into the trashcan.

* * *

Councilwoman Sarah Stevens hung up the telephone. She rubbed her temples in weariness. She had been up all night, answering calls from her fellow city council member Arthur Reeves about things he had failed to follow up on himself—likely too busy pursuing social activities and not doing his job.

As Stevens got to her feet, she instinctively reached for her intercom before she remembered that it was after one. No one else was in the office besides her.

She grabbed her coat and purse and opened the door to her office, shutting out the light. As she stepped into the lobby, she heard something rustle in the corner. Stevens narrowed her eyes. "Who's there?" she called out, but there was no answer. She felt around for the light to the lobby, and flicked it on.

But no lights came on.

Something was wrong, Sarah knew it.

She quickly sped towards the door leading out of her office's lobby, when she heard a cackle of laughter. "Oh, my dear Councilwoman. I was afraid that I'd missed you, it being so late and all."

The hairs on Sarah's neck stood up. "Yes, yes, I know one o'clock in the morning is awfully late to be paying someone of your prestige a visit, but it couldn't be helped!" The voice was silky, smooth—and most of all, frightening. "You see, it's a bit troublesome in the daytime; there's so many people!"

Sarah started forward, before a flash burst before her. Her hand was on the doorknob, but the figure shut it just as quickly. When the door flashed open, a ray of light sprayed inside, illuminating the figure briefly.

Sarah saw a flash of color—it looked like . . . purple clothing? But the clothing wasn't the worst part . . . it was that . . . that _face_—pale white, as a ghost, with wild green hair and awful red lips. . . .

"Oh, come, come, my dear Councilwoman—you can't tell anyone. That'd ruin the surprise! _AH, HAHAHA!_"

Sarah had to get out, escape this madman. How had he gotten in?

She sprang for her office; there was no way out from there, but she could at least get inside and hole up, maybe wait for the police to arrive, just if she got there before he could.

"Oh, you are _hilarious_, Councilwoman! You are going to make me _die _of laughter. _HAHAHA! HAHAHAHA!_"

Before Sarah could even reach for the doorknob, she heard the sound of something muffled, then she felt a sharp pain in her back. Losing all control of her body, Sarah collapsed, and she knew what it was.

A bullet, fired from a silenced pistol.

Before she could even scream, another shot pierced her. Then another. And another, and another, and another, until the only sound was a cackle of hysterical laughter, and then the thud as the office door slammed shut.

* * *

**A/N: Hello everyone! Welcome to chapter 17! In this chapter we get to finish the first exercise, get a bit of relationship-building between the team, and we get introduced to yet another DC hallmark character. How does this all fit together? Let me know your thoughts on this chapter in the reviews! Next chapter should be a bit of a break from the action and let our characters get some downtime and get to know one another better. Thanks for reading! Until next time.**


	19. Chapter 18 - Riddles and Bats

**Chapter 18 - "Riddles and Bats"**

Romero entered the apartment to find Jace, Cathy, and Vince all lounging in the living room. Cathy and Jace were on the couch, and Vince was standing with his back against the doorframe.

The three stared at him as Romero slowly shut the door. "Um . . . hello," he greeted, a bit curious. None of them said a word. After about fifteen seconds of silence, Romero continued, "Am I supposed to say something else?"

Cathy snorted. "You aren't gonna tell us what happened?!" she exclaimed, and Romero grinned.

"I thought you all wanted to keep out of this?"

"No, we just elected you the spokesperson. We didn't say we wanted to stay in the blue," Jace countered, crossing his arms.

"That sounds fair," Romero remarked sarcastically. "All right, this is the short version: I'm part of a group of fourteen people—I think most of them have powers—that is supposed to be cleaning up the streets, namely Falcone, while Mr. Pointy-Ears is a no-show."

A few more seconds of silence passed before Vince prodded, "And . . . that was it?"

"Oh, yeah—we had our first mission too."

"A mission? Already?" Jace had uncrossed his arms and was leaning forward, intrigued.

"Yep. We had to go to Ace Chemicals—someone squealed that the cops were staking the place out, and Falcone staged an ambush. Killed two of 'em."

"And how did this little club of yours make out?"

"Killed a few. Captured a few. Mostly killed."

A grin split Vince's lips. "My kind of people."

Romero yawned—it was a little fake, but mostly real. He was _tired_. "I'll have to fill you guys in later. Running around and dodging bullets takes a lot out of you."

"All right," Cathy started, "but you aren't off the hook. You've gotta tell us everything tomorrow."

"I'll tell you as much as I can," Romero said, moving for his bedroom. "But it might have to be split up; we've got another meeting tomorrow afternoon."

"Already?" Jace asked.

Romero nodded. "Yup. So . . . if you all are staying up, please keep the noise down." He grinned. "I need my beauty sleep."

As he entered the bedroom, Vince grumbled, "You can say that again."

* * *

Aria finished rubbing the ointment on her arms. It began to soothe the sore nerves, the pain fleeing at the comfortable touch. She let out a light sigh as Spencer kept his eyes on her.

"I thought you agreed to be careful," he said sternly.

"I was careful," Aria countered. "I only used my powers for a little bit."

"But look at what it's done! Didn't you say you had to be carried to the ambulance?"

"Yes, Daddy—and I was able to walk away from the ambulance. I'll be fine. It's just something I'm gonna have to get used to."

Spencer sighed and shook his head. "I hope I don't regret telling you about this."

Aria reached over and squeezed his leg. "I promise you, I'll be fine. I'll use my powers in spurts. I won't overdo myself. And besides, the people on this team—I think I can trust them. For the most part."

Spencer grinned slightly. "I'm glad of that." He bent down and kissed her lightly on the forehead. "Sweet dreams, Aria."

She beamed at him. "Thanks. I'll see you in the morning."

As Spencer left the room, Aria pulled her cell phone out and flipped to her contacts. After tapping the picture of the person she wanted to talk to, she held the phone to her ear. "Hello?" a voice that sounded like it belonged to someone in desperate need of sleep said.

"Hi, Zach," Aria calmly replied.

"Aria! What're you doing up so late?"

"I'm actually in bed right now. But I just needed to tell you something." She bit her lip before saying, "I'm part of a superhero team."

It sounded a lot cheesier out loud than it did in her head.

A brief intermission followed before Zach let out a laugh. "What is this, Aria, some kind of joke?"

"It's no joke," Aria said firmly, trying to build up some backbone with her declaration. "Gotham's government worked with the federal government to put together something called the Titan Movement. I'm a part of it."

Zach still sounded skeptical, but at least he wasn't laughing. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Of course I am!"

"And Dad knows about this?"

"Sure. He's the one who told me about it."

"When did you join up?"

"Tonight. We had our first mission too."

"Did you get to use your _superpowers_?" Zach asked. Every time he said "superpowers," he used some extravagant tone of speech.

"Yes," Aria said slowly. "And . . . I killed a guy."

Silence was Zach's answer.

"Zach . . .?" Aria prodded.

"Yeah, yeah . . . I'm here. Wow. You . . . you mean you _literally_ killed him? Like . . . took his life?"

"That is, like, the only definition of kill that I know," Aria said. "Unless we're talking kill as in jokes, which I did that too."

Zach didn't appear at all fazed by her joke. "I can't believe you kill—Like, how, exactly, did you kill him?"

"Well, I actually killed a couple. I shot one with a bow, and stabbed three others."

Zach was silent once more. "Aria . . . you _really_ killed four people?"

"Yes. But they were _shooting at me and my friends_. They killed two cops." She let out a shaky laugh. "It sounds like you're turning this around to make it sound like we're the bad guys and we killed innocent people."

"No, no, it's not that—I mean, I get that their bad guys. And better they die than you or anyone else who is defending the city. But . . . I just can't believe that my baby sister _killed_ people."

Aria groaned. "I am _not_ your baby sister. Not anymore. I'm nineteen."

Zach chuckled. "Still younger than me." He paused, then continued, "No, for real, I'm happy for you, Aria. I'm glad that you're kinda stepping outside your bubble and actually doing something. Since that night when you got your powers . . . it's been hard, having to see you struggle and live a life so different from others."

A thought passed in Aria's mind. "Apparently I'm not the only one. . ."

"What?" Zach asked, clearly confused.

"Nothing." Aria grinned. "I just thought I'd let you know."

"I'm glad you did. And just do your best. And please, Aria—just be careful. Okay?"

"Okay."

She could practically see Zach smiling on his end. "I love you, sis."

"I love you too, big bro." Aria hung up the phone, placed it on the nightstand, and rolled over, hoping to drift off to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Annalise was speeding down the road on her motorcycle when she saw a conglomeration of first responder vehicles outside City Hall. "What's going on here?" she whispered, pulling the bike over.

She stepped from it, unlatching the helmet she wore when riding it. It wasn't her hero mask; she only wore that when actually "on duty," as she called it. Her orange hair was tied up in a bun, the way she preferred it when riding.

As she moved towards the scene, an officer stepped in front of her and held up a hand. "Sorry, ma'am. No one's allowed inside. Commissioner's orders."

"Annalise!" She turned at the call of her name. It was Dante, jogging to her side. He withdrew his wallet and held it up, brandishing the pass that Gordon had given each one of them. "We're with the GCPD." He nudged Annalise, and she did the same.

The officer examined each ID card, and then nodded. "I'm sorry for the mistake." He glanced up and pointed towards the building. "You can find the Commissioner inside. He's in Councilwoman Stevens's office."

The two nodded and walked past, and Annalise whispered into Dante's ear, "What's going on here?"

Dante whispered back, "Homicide. Someone killed the councilwoman."

Annalise's lip quivered. "Killed?"

Dante nodded. "Gordon called me and told me to hurry over. He says that something about it is . . . off."

Quickly, the two entered the elevator and rode up to the floor where the late councilwoman's office was located. Inside, it was bustling with police officers, paramedics, and other city officials. Once they arrived, they caught the attention of Harvey Dent, who was chattering on his cell phone. He held up a finger to them. "Yes, yes, I'll address it later. Thank you. Goodbye."

He hung up and walked over, shaking his head. "This is a mess." He eyed both of them. "Annalise, Dante," he greeted. "I'm sure you heard what's happened?"

"Just the basics. No details," Annalise answered.

Harvey turned and thumbed to the office where most of the people were congregating. "Gordon's in there. Come on."

The three moved down the hallway, slipping past cops and medics alike as they made their way to the office. Harvey led the way inside. "Jim," he called, and Gordon glanced over. As he walked towards them, Annalise and Dante caught a glimpse of a woman's body on the ground. Her businesslike attire had been shredded with bullets, and blood was everywhere—on the floor, on her, and on the walls.

"Oh my God," Annalise whispered as Gordon stopped by them.

"Dante, glad you could make it. You too, Mrs. Blackwood." He sighed. "This . . . this is unbelievable."

"What happened, Jim?" Dante asked, glad to tear his eyes away from the mangled corpse.

Gordon shook his head. "I don't even know, honestly. No one found her body until her secretary came in this morning. She saw her lying there and called for us. We've been trying to find out what exactly did happen."

A tall, lanky man with carefully combed dark hair and a pair of glasses stepped to Gordon's side. "Commissioner, nothing seems out of place in her office. Just in here."

Gordon nodded and gestured to the newcomer. "Thanks, Ed. Dante, Annalise, this is Edward Nygma, one of the GCPD's forensic scientists. Ed, this is Dante Herald and Annalise Blackwood, two members of our little government program."

Nygma nodded and gave a brief smile before he turned back to Gordon. "Commissioner, we found something else."

"What?" Gordon asked.

Nygma gestured towards a chair that was lying on its side. He scooped it up and held it upside down. Written on the bottom was a message—and it appeared to be written in blood.

Gordon read the words aloud: _"Dear GCPD: Go to the bell, book, and candle, but don't fly off the handle. The secrets you seek are not so black and white, and last night was just the beginning of our little fight."_

"And _what_ does that mean?" Dante asked, speaking for all of them.

"Don't you see?" Nygma cut in. "It's a riddle of some sort."

"Well, Ed, you're the brains here. What does it mean?"

Nygma shook his head. "I don't have the faintest clue. I'll need some time to figure it out."

As Nygma departed, Annalise scratched her chin. "I think the part that's the clearest from that is the last line—'Last night was just the beginning of our little fight.' Definitely sounds like whoever did this had something to do with the ambush at Ace Chemicals."

"Why do you say that?" Harvey asked.

"Because it was addressed to the GCPD. It seems too coincidental that an ambush on police and a murder—with a note addressed to the police—happen so closely together."

"She does have a point," Dante mused.

Gordon clicked his tongue. "We've got to figure out who did this—and why." He glanced to Annalise. "If you're right and this is Falcone's work, then he must be planning something big. He's never targeted a city official before, just the GCPD. And the riddle . . . it has to mean something. Why would he just all of a sudden start leaving riddles and clues?"

Annalise grinned. "Sounds like a perfect job for the Titan Movement to look into."

* * *

John was sitting in the conference room in silence, waiting patiently. The desk officer had said that Commissioner Gordon and the DA were responding to some call at City Hall—something about a murder. Curiosity had gripped John, but he withheld the urge to dig in. He'd look into it if he was invited.

While he was sitting, John was trying to think of some way to preoccupy himself until the others arrived. "But how long will that be," he muttered aloud, closing his eyes. "How long . . ."

"Not too long," a smooth voice answered. John blinked his eyes open and looked around, but there was no one else in the room.

"Hello?" he asked. Maybe it was one of the others; he didn't know, but one might have some power to turn invisible and be playing some kind of a trick on him. He let out a shaky laugh. "All right, I give up. Which one of you is it? Clyde? Yeah, it's gotta be Clyde."

"No, it is not."

It took John a few moments, but then the voice registered with him. It was a voice he had spoken to telepathically on several occasions, but none that recent. He swallowed, closed his eyes, and then said, "Kuaion."

A light chuckle sounded. "I was afraid that our lack of meetings recently had caused you to forget my voice."

"I don't think that'd ever happen." He paused, then asked, "Not to sound abrupt, but why are you contacting me out of the blue like this?"

"Out of the blue? This is a great time of change for both yourself and the entire world, Johnathan." John felt a little surprised at hearing his full name. No one called him by it—not in a long time. "A gathering of such powerful individuals as this . . . Titan Movement . . . it's a monumental event, for the entire universe, not just mankind. Nothing like it has ever been done . . . not in a long time."

"Why do I have a nagging feeling that you're behind all this?"

Kuaion gave another laugh. "I am no orchestrator of such things. You already know that I only choose one carrier of my power every century."

"If my math isn't skewed, that would mean there's at least two others with these kind of powers. Maybe three."

Kuaion didn't answer immediately. "Not necessarily. Not everyone who is blessed with this power happens to be frozen in ice for several hundred years like you were."

John wanted to prod, but Kuaion cut him off. "There's not much time for idle discussion. Your new allies shall be arriving shortly. But I wanted to inform you that because of these circumstances, I have decided to further your training, more so than I have assisted any other possessor of my powers in years past."

"You talk like there's more to this than just a crime boss trying to tear down a city."

"Everything is not as it seems, Johnathan. Don't take the appearance on the surface as a complete illumination of the matter as a whole. There are things stirring that you cannot even begin to comprehend."

"Like what?" John asked, but no answer came. John quickly blinked his eyes open to see Clyde standing at the doorway, staring at him in silence.

"Oh. Hello," John quickly said. He hoped his face wasn't turning as red as he felt like it was.

"Hi," Clyde responded. "You have a Bluetooth or something?"

"No," John answered skeptically. "I'm pretty sure they're all white."

"That's not what I—" Clyde started, before he held up a hand. "Never mind. I'm not sure I wanna know."

"Know what?"

Clyde gestured with his hands. "About . . . _you_." John's face was the epitome of confusion, and Clyde held up his hand again. "That didn't come out quite right. I just meant that . . . I don't wanna get too bogged down in talks about powers and everything. All this threw me for a curveball."

"All this? You mean everyone having powers?"

"Yeah. I mean, where I come from, there's good guys and bad guys, but all this stuff going on in Gotham . . . I mean, there's guys dressed as bats and people with powers . . . I just thought all this stuff was from comic books."

John chuckled. _Little does he know that I predate comic books. _

The door cracked open, and Sean sidled in. "Well, looks like I'm not late this time." He walked over to an empty chair and sat down. "No one else here?"

"Well . . ." Clyde looked to John and arched an eyebrow. "Is your friend . . .?"

"What?" Sean asked, eyes flicking from Clyde to John and back and forth. "What friend?"

John sighed. "My _friend_, as you call him . . . he's not here, but technically he is."

Sean let out a laugh. "I hope you've got some clarification for that little bombshell."

"Well, you see, he's a type of spirit—a 'god,' if you a will. His name's Kuaion." He glanced to both Sean and Clyde, who both looked like they had had a box of rocks dropped on their heads. "He gives a different person these powers as a gift every hundred years. He chose me, and some nutjob tried to force me into his little league, or cult, or whatever, I refused, and in the process of trying to escape I got frozen. That was in the eighteenth century.

"A couple of years ago I was unfrozen. I've trained and hoped that some day I might be able to get back at the guy who froze me. He . . . he did a lot of bad things back when I was a kid."

Sean let out a nervous laugh. "Y'know, my instincts are telling me you're quite a storyteller, but something else is telling me that you aren't full of it."

Clyde didn't seem at all as if he was about to laugh. "So . . . you mean that you are . . . a couple hundred years old?" John nodded. "Oh man," Clyde sighed, scratching at his chin. "Maybe you should tell that to Miss Hot Stuff, take her down a notch. She acts like she's our boss or something."

"Who?"

"You know, Annalise. She's always giving orders and stuff."

Sean chuckled. "What's wrong with having a woman in charge, Cly old boy? Could be fun."

"Nothing's _wrong_ with it," Clyde said. "It's just . . . well, since we've got someone who's a couple centuries old, we could use the experience."

John laughed. "Hold on now—I may be a couple hundred years old, but the experience thing isn't necessarily true. Like I said, I got frozen as a kid—I was fifteen. Technically, I've only got the life experience of a twenty-one-year-old, all the other years, they don't count."

The three laughed as they continued to chat away and get to know one another. But still, even as the conversation wore on, John still wondered at what exactly lay behind Kuaion's grim message.

* * *

"Come on, shove off. You aren't getting paid just to loaf around. Get to work."

As the foreman moved on, the construction worker let out a sigh and muttered, "Thinks highly of himself, doesn't he?"

"Well, he _is_ the boss," his friend countered.

"True. Well, let's get to it."

The two got up and moved towards the aqueduct. There had been complaints about clogged water lines from the neighborhood that the water works were connected to. So, the crew had been called out.

The first guy jumped down, turning on his helmet light. "Man, it's dark down here."

"Don't tell me you're afraid of the dark."

"Not the dark—it's what's _in _the dark."

"What, you think that bat monster's down here?"

"Well . . ."

"Listen up, it's just a hoax! The cops probably made it up just to scare the crooks after Batman went on his vacation or whatever. It's not even real."

"I'm not so sure. I know a guy—"

"Yeah, is it the same guy who said he saw a UFO that one time?"

"Look, that was New Year's—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just keep on going and get this job done, _then_ we'll talk about the freaky bat monster."

The first worker continued on, when something shifted down the tunnel. He snapped his head, shining his light down the aqueduct. "Um . . . did you hear that?"

"Hear _what_?"

The worker turned back to his friend. "I thought I heard someth—"

Before he could finish, a towering shadow appeared over him. It let out a bloodcurdling screech and leapt down, claws and fangs flashing down as the worker was pulled to the ground. The second worker was frozen in shock as the creature held his companion to the ground, claws digging at his throat.

The man squirmed to no avail and his friend's eyes went from him to the creature. Without a second thought, he turned and took off down the aqueduct.

The creature let out a hiss and contemplated giving chase, but he saw the man running for the sunlight. It would be of no use. As the man in its grasp continued to squirm, the creature glanced down and plunged its claws down, silencing the man. It got up and turned, leaving the body.

* * *

**A/N: So, here's chapter 18! We get to see a little bit of relationship building between some of the characters, as well as some more concerning the councilwoman's murder and a certain bat creature. Leave your thoughts on the chapter in the reviews! Again, thank you all for taking the time to follow this story and give me your thoughts and for being so supportive with your ideas. It means a lot! We'll get to see some more of the characters who were absent this go around in the next chapter. I hope you all enjoyed it! Until next time.**


	20. Chapter 19 - Divisions

**Chapter 19 - "Divisions"**

Jemima marched down the corridor of the GCPD complex, sipping the last bit of coffee from the cardboard cup before tossing it into the trashcan outside the room that had been adopted as a lounge for the Titan Movement and its members. Inside, several of the group was gathered.

Briskly, trying not to draw attention to herself, Jemima slipped in. The heads of those waiting turned to her, and she tried to give up her best smile as a greeting. She slipped into a chair between Emily and Mia. "Am I late?" she asked. "I got tied up in the tech hub."

"Oh, no," Emily quickly replied. "We're just waiting for the others. Gordon isn't here yet either."

Jemima nodded as she settled into her seat. "So," Emily started, "what is it like? The tech hub, I mean."

"Hmm? Oh, it's great. It has a lot of tech. Wayne Enterprises stuff, government equipment—some of this stuff I thought we were _years _from having."

"You think I could maybe drop in sometime?" Emily asked. She grinned slightly. "I have a bit of a knack for technology."

"Sure," Jemima said. "But you don't have to ask. It's not just mine."

Emily smiled and nodded just as the door to the lounge burst open. John poked his head inside. "Here you all are," he said, huffing slightly. "Gordon needs you all in the conference room. Something big has happened."

Curiosities were piqued. Quickly, the members all got up and left, funneling out of the lounge. In all, aside from John, there were nine in the lounge—Jemima, Emily, Mia, Vermin, Renegade, Romero, Matt, Aria, and Nansi. They all followed John to the conference room. As they entered, Gordon turned to them.

"John found you all—good." He eyed John. "Did you tell them?"

"Nope. Saved that honor for you."

Gordon nodded, and waited for the group to seat themselves around the table. The other members were all there—Sean, Clyde, Annalise, and Dante. Once they were all seated, Gordon started up. "We have a murder on our hands. Councilwoman Stevens has been killed."

Silence filled the room. A few of the members shifted, and the looks on some of their faces showed what many were thinking: most didn't even know there _was _a Councilwoman Stevens.

"Late last night, while she was working late, the councilwoman was ambushed in her office. Someone shot her repeatedly. We found a message written on the bottom of a chair—in blood."

Jemima's face twisted in disgust. _How evil can someone be to murder someone then write a message in their blood?_

Gordon clicked a remote in his hand, and an image appeared on a large screen against the wall. It showed the bottom of a chair, with a message written on it. After the group read it, Clyde mused, "What is this? Some kind of joke?"

"Murder isn't my idea of a joke," Gordon replied coolly. "From the sound of this message, whoever did this is delusional at best, psychotic at worst. Odds lean to the latter." He paused, cleared his throat, then said, "This is the message that we deciphered: _Dear GCPD: Go to the bell, book, and candle, but don't fly off the handle. The secrets you seek are not so black and white, and last night was just the beginning of our little fight._"

Gordon turned off the screen, then continued, "Annalise and Dante happened upon the scene of the crime. From our talks, we have deduced that this ties into the ambush at Ace Chemicals from last night. And that means Falcone is involved."

"Finally! Now we get to take the fight to them." Clyde had a triumphant grin on his face, but as he glanced to his companions, his smile began to fade. "What? Too much enthusiasm?"

Annalise gave a nod and a forced smile as Clyde nodded, crossing his arms.

"We appreciate the enthusiasm, Mr. Darby," Gordon continued, "but we can't just rush Falcone and arrest him."

"Arrest isn't what I had in mind," Clyde mumbled.

Ignoring him, Gordon added, "If Falcone is behind this, then he'll be expecting a full-on assault of some kind. He might be evil, but he isn't stupid. We have to slip in unnoticed. Do it stealthily."

"Do we have a plan?" Mia asked.

Gordon stroked his chin. "We have some ideas. But we'll let you know when we decided on a course of action."

Jemima fiddled, tapping her fingers on the arm of her chair, before she piped up. "I think . . ."

All eyes turned to her. Most were surprised; this was her first time speaking before the entire group, actually. She felt a tinge of red rush to her cheeks, and resisting the urge to clam up and withhold any more speech, Jemima continued, "I think that we should try to figure out what exactly this riddle means."

"What it means?" Clyde prodded.

Jemima nodded. "Yeah—like, the meaning of the words. A riddle isn't a riddle unless it takes some digging to uncover it. We have to find out what it's referring to, like in the beginning. What was it you said? Something about a bell, a book, and a candle?"

Gordon nodded, reciting the riddle. "_'Go to the bell, book, and candle.'_"

"Well, what does that mean?"

"I think I see what she's getting at," Annalise said, hoping to help enlighten the others concerning Jemima's ideas. "If we find out what the killer was referring to with his riddle, we can try to crack it. Maybe _that _will help us get the culprit easily."

Jemima flashed a smile to Annalise, in thanks. Annalise returned it as Gordon spoke up. "A good plan, Ms. Allson. One of our forensic scientists is trying to crack the riddle—he has a knack for these things. I'm sure he'll appreciate all the help you can get."

"I'll help too, in any way that I can," Dante offered.

"Same here," Mia said. "Working in the CIA has helped me with some code-cracking abilities. They might be of use."

"Glad to see you all coming together on this," Gordon said. He looked to the others. "Anyone else think they can help solve this riddle?"

"I'm in," Annalise said.

"Me too." Aria raised a hand, adding herself to the list.

Gordon nodded. "Good—I think that will be a good group. You all can work on cracking this code and figuring out what exactly it means. The rest of you—"

Suddenly, Bullock rushed into the conference room. "Commissioner," he said, panting. "That bat-thing just attacked a construction worker in the sewers under Fifth Avenue. Killed 'em, his pal says."

Gordon cursed, then turned to the others. "Looks like I've got a job for the rest of you. Who's up for some tracking work?"

* * *

Gordon and the field team of the Titan Movement arrived at the sewers. The foreman was conversing with a cop while another pair of officers were standing by the sewer entrance, waiting. They were both carrying rifles, occasionally casting a wary glance down the tunnel as if the bat creature might appear and drag them in.

The members all exited their vehicles and moved towards the sewer. Gordon led the way, followed closely by Bullock. His accompaniment forced a wider berth between Gordon and the other members.

"Grant," Gordon called, and one of the officers climbed up the embankment to the group.

"Commissioner," Officer Grant greeted, nodding. He was in his early forties, his dark brown hair graying from age, but his face still looked as if he had enough fight left in him for several years at least. He arched an eyebrow. "This the little team you were putting together?"

"Part of it," Gordon said. He nodded to the sewers. "What've you got?"

Grant gestured to the foreman. "The foreman says that he sent two guys into the sewers to check out a clogged water line. One of them came back, screaming that the creature killed his friend. We wanted to wait for backup before going on."

"It's your lucky day then," Sean said with a grin. "Backup's arrived."

Grant chuckled. "Pretty gung-ho, aren't they?"

"Trust me, you haven't seen them in action yet," Gordon replied as he turned to the group. "We'll split up—there's a few different routes leading into the sewers. I'll lead a group into one, Bullock can take the next, and Grant can have the third.

"Vermin, Romero, and Nansi can come with me. Emily, Matt, and Renegade can go with Bullock. Clyde, John, and Sean will go with Grant. Sound good?"

The group gave their affirmations, and Gordon nodded. "All right. Let's go." He quickly moved down the lead pipe, flanked by Vermin, then Romero, and Nansi in the back. Bullock took his team to one to the left, while Grant led his to the right.

Gordon pulled a flashlight from his belt and unholstered his pistol, shining his light around. "Vermin—can you smell anything?" he asked.

Vermin gave a sniff, then nodded. "The dead guy's up here. I can tell."

Gordon sighed. "Just great."

As Grant led his team into their pipe, the officer clicked on the flashlight attachment mounted on his rifle's barrel. As he led the way, Clyde and Sean both drew their handguns. John followed closely behind, having summoned no weapon yet.

"This place gives me the creeps," Sean murmured.

"At least we don't have Vermin with us. We might mistake her for the creature," Clyde remarked.

John sighed. "Cly, enough with the talk about Vermin, okay? We get that you've got a bias or whatever against those with powers, but we don't have to hear about it all the time, got it?"

Clyde was silent. Grant took the moment to speak. "So, you guys really have powers? I thought that stuff was only in comic books and movies."

"Oh no, it's for real. Johnny Boy here was frozen in ice and can summon different weapons from ice."

"What? Frozen in ice? Like Captain—"

"No, not like that. That _is _a comic book. As Sean said, this is real life. We've got real, honest to God powers."

Grant whistled. "Fancy."

In the third pipe, Bullock led the way. And they were moving _slowly_. "Um, do you mind speeding up a bit?" Renegade quipped.

Bullock turned and snapped, "Hush your face, Batfan. I'm going as fast as you can."

Renegade felt a grin on his face. "So—have you actually met Batman, Bullock?"

Bullock snorted. "Met him? I coulda creamed the guy, if the Commissioner didn't order me to stand down."

Matt took the moment to spur Bullock on. "Creamed him? How so?"

Bullock opened his mouth to retort before Emily cut him off. "I can't say I don't enjoy your little conversation, guys, but you are talking _pretty _loud. You might scare off the bat creature I you're too loud."

Bullock nodded. "You're right. I'll put you two in your places later, when we're outta this mess."

* * *

"Hey! Maybe it's a birthday cake factory?" Aria burst out, a grin on her face. She looked to each of the others around the table. "No? Maybe not?"

Annalise shrugged. "I guess it could be. I just don't get the picture that our killer is running around planting clues with birthday cake candles."

"I think we should maybe look outside the box a little more," Dante offered. "If we try to take the candle part at face value, we're gonna have a lot of stores to look at that sell candles."

As the group mulled over their thoughts, Mia remarked, "I didn't think that this job would involve me trying to figure out what a deranged psychopath was thinking when they wrote a riddle."

They all laughed, and Jemima said, "Yeah, me too."

"Tell us a bit about yourself, Jemima," Annalise said out of the blue.

"Me? What do you mean?"

"Well, just about yourself, what you do, your baby—if it isn't too personal, that is."

Jemima grinned. "Oh no. Actually, I'm very excited about the baby. So is Daniel."

"Daniel," Aria repeated. "Boyfriend, I guess? You don't look old enough to be married yet."

"Yeah, boyfriend. He's going to the university to take classes on becoming a cop. He'll probably wind up here someday."

"Have you told him the kind of work you're doing? It'd probably make him jealous," Annalise commented.

"Not all of it. Not only would he be upset that I got to do crime-fighting before him, but he'd also worry himself to death. He tries to hide it, but I think he's real nervous about the baby and everything, like something's going to happen."

"Don't worry, nothing will happen. I'm sure your baby will be perfectly healthy," Annalise said with a grin.

"The library?" Dante said out of the blue.

"What?" Aria asked.

"The library—that's what the 'book' part could've been referring to."

"Oh," Aria murmured. "I mean, I guess so. Does anyone know anything about Gotham's libraries? Maybe one of them has a psycho librarian."

"That sounds like an interesting B-movie," Jemima said.

"It might be worth looking into. We could do an after-hours search of the local libraries and try to find something," Mia suggested.

"We'll bring it up at our next meeting," Annalise replied. She let out a sigh. "I'll say one thing—trying to solve a riddle is tiring work. Not to mention boring."

"Let's take a break then," Dante decided. "We'll get back to work in a few minutes."

* * *

"You're delusional, Harvey," Arthur Reeves said with a snort. "Stevens was just a poor, unfortunate soul. Some unhappy voter must've gone off the rails and killed her."

"I can't believe you," Harvey fumed. "A councilwoman is dead—_brutally murdered_—and you pin it on some voter? Face the facts, Arthur, we're standing on the edge of a storm that's about to blow all over Gotham. Something bad is gonna happen, I just know it."

"So what are you suggesting, Harvey?" Mayor Hill asked, seated in his cushioned chair. "Provide each and every city official with a twenty-four-seven guard? That would be impossible."

"Why not?" Harvey demanded, whirling to the mayor's desk. "Gordon's got more than enough men to swing it, not to mention the entire Titan team he's just formed."

"Not only would it be too comprehensive of a task, but it could be for nothing. What if this was just an isolated incident? We'd have wasted so many men for nothing."

"But what if it _wasn't _an isolated incident?" Harvey barked. His face was red with anger, sweat beading on his forehead out of rage. "You're sitting here on your hands, so worried about saving funds and wasting time, that you don't even care if people are gonna get killed."

"Harvey, take it easy. Be patient."

"'Be patient'?!" Harvey yelled, slamming a fist on the desk. "You can just sit by, Mayor, but believe me—something's going to happen. You can count on that." Brushing past Reeves, Harvey stormed from the mayor's office and slammed the door.

"What a firecracker," Reeves snorted, shaking his head.

"What if he's right, Arthur? What if there is some deranged lunatic on the loose, targeting city officials? You, me, Harvey—any one of us could be a target."

"Listen, Mayor, you've got nothing to worry about," Reeves said, his smile ever so large. With that, he turned and exited the office casually.

Hamilton Hill could only sit in silence and massage his temples, fretting over the dilemma Gotham City was facing.

* * *

**A/N: Hello everyone! Here's chapter 19. We get to dig deeper into the mystery and our group is divided for their first missions. Any ideas on what might happen? I hope you all enjoyed it. Be sure to let me know your thoughts in the reviews, and by all means, if anyone has an idea for something they'd like to see concerning their OC's story, just feel free to PM me and let me know your ideas. I'd love to hear them. You all take care and I'll see you next time.**


	21. Chapter 20 - A Bat in the Hand

**Chapter 20 - "A Bat in the Hand"**

Emily kept her senses sharp as her group moved down the drainage pipe. The occasional rattling or dripping of water caused a shiver to run down her spine. Something felt . . . off. Not right. _But what could it be?_

She shook the feeling away. _Can't let my nerves get me on edge. I need to be ready for it . . . whatever it is._

Bullock stepped in a puddle, carelessly letting the water slosh against his pants leg. Matt snorted. "Good eyesight."

"Shut it, kid, before I gouge your eyes out."

Matt took the cue to be quiet. Not because he didn't want to retort, but because he knew they had to be drawing near to the creature. It would be unwise to call attention to themselves here and now, especially when they were so close.

Bullock moved along when a low, guttural sound filled the drainage pipes. It sounded like some animal, make a chittering noise. The group stopped, frozen in place, as their heads craned about slowly, uncertain of what made the noise. Emily voiced the question they were all thinking: "What was _that_?"

"My guess? The bat creature," Renegade said.

"No duh," Bullock snapped. He reached to the cross-draw holster and wrenched his pistol free, checking the chamber. Renegade got a glimpse of it; it was some snub-nose revolver job, maybe a Colt of some sort. He let out a whistle, and Bullock quickly said, "Eyes off. You've got ya own gear."

"Don't worry," Renegade remarked, drawing his dual revolvers. "I'm not jealous."

Bullock's stare seemed to hint _he _might be.

The chittering noise sounded again, this time closer. It echoed throughout the tunnels, bouncing off the walls as it carried to their ears. The four exchanged glances before Bullock carried forward, his gun aimed ahead. He trained his flashlight down the tunnel, waiting for something out of his worst nightmares to leap out and claw him to pieces. But no such thing came.

They drew to a crossroads in the tunnels, a fork that split off into four separate paths, one the one they had followed. Bullock groaned. "We gotta split up. That thing could be down any one of these paths."

Emily raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "If my judgement of directions are correct, the path to the right will lead us towards the others, meaning one of us might wind up dead if we aren't careful."

Bullock seemed to freeze up, as if he was a bit embarrassed that a girl more than half his age had figured out that little fact before he could. Not letting it stay for long, he snapped, "All right, Miss Prissy, we'll split up into _two _groups." He pointed down one tunnel. "I'll go this way."

"I'll come with you," Matt offered, stepping towards Bullock.

Renegade glanced to Emily. "Guess that leaves you and me to take the left one."

Emily grinned. "Fun."

Bullock jabbed a thick finger at the two of them. "Now look—you two are going after some bat creature. No funny business, get my drift? Don't go screwing each other or somethin'."

Both Renegade and Emily stood in stunned silence. "Um . . ." was all Emily managed to say, feeling red rush to her cheeks.

Quickly, Renegade said, "Listen, Bullock—that's the furthest thing from our minds. We've got a job to do. We aren't going to do anything . . . _foolish_."

Bullock chortled. "Sure. Just be ready in case you stumble upon some bat creature and let us know. Got it?"

"Yeah. Got it," Emily replied. Bullock nodded, then gestured.

"All right. Off you go then. Come on, kid. Let's get a move on."

* * *

The four men were seated in deep conversation around the round table, smoke filling the air as one plump, stubby individual put out the cigarette he had been smoking. A man slightly older but more far more resolute in stature spoke up. "If you don't do something drastic soon, we're all gonna wind up dead. You realize that, don't you?" He spoke with an accent, and the voice was one known throughout Gotham's underworld, carrying terror with it.

"You don't need to make your hollow threats, Carmine," Oswald Cobblepot murmured with his Aussie accent, a grin on his face. "I've already taken out one City Council member."

"One isn't enough!" another at the table spat, slamming a fist on the table. He was big, sort of a mesh between Cobblepot and Carmine Falcone—he had the height of Falcone, but the girth of Cobblepot. "You need to make even more of a statement. If you don't, our heads will all be on a platter before the week is up! The day, even."

"Plans are already set in motion." Cobblepot tipped up the glass, downing the contents. "You'll have your second death tonight, don't worry."

"And what, exactly, is your plan? Have your madman friend slaughter another councilman and leave some stupid riddle behind?"

"I admit the tactics our compatriot uses aren't necessarily clean, but they get the job done—and that's more than I can say for either of the hitmen you two have conjured up."

The fourth man, who had been quiet up to that point, spoke up next. "It's just a matter of time before your little plans are thwarted. If the Batman shows up—"

"Quiet with your fears about the Batman, Sionis!" Falcone snapped. "He's gone." Cobblepot stared at him, unconvinced. "He has to be! Otherwise, he'd be the one cracking down on our guys—not these new punks that the GCPD has."

"And what of them?" Roman Sionis countered. "They seemed to take care of your little troop quite easily enough. Maybe they're more capable than we initially gave them credit for."

"Perhaps," Cobblepot mused. "And perhaps not. That's only one mission. They've yet to face a true threat."

"And what is this 'true threat'?" Sionis jabbed. "Have you got an Ace up your sleeve?" Sionis leaned forward, the light sparkling on the marble-like black mask adorning his face. "Or should I say . . . a Joker?"

Cobblepot merely chuckled. "Who knows, Sionis. Only time will tell." His grin slowly grew wider. "Only time will tell."

* * *

Renegade moved down the tunnel, Emily following close behind. As their feet clopped in the puddled water, Emily cleared her throat. "So . . . you just going to keep your identity hidden this whole time? Not fill anyone in?"

A nervous laugh filled the air. "That's the whole point of wearing a mask, isn't it? To keep your identity hidden?"

Emily shrugged. "I guess. Still, kind of makes it hard to build friends."

Renegade kept moving. "Works for Batman, doesn't it?"

Emily snorted. "Depends on your point of view. I think he has more enemies than he has friends."

"Fair enough."

They continued moving, and a low panting sounded. Emily froze, hearing it first. "Wait—what is that?"

Renegade stopped and listened to the sound. He shook his head. "I'm not sure. It might be the bat creature. Keep on your guard."

"Don't worry. I have been this whole time."

Renegade lowered his dual revolvers, keeping his gaze affixed straight ahead. He cocked his head and asked, "Hey—do you have any weapons?"

The scraping of Emily's stun gun exiting its holster was quickly followed by her lifting it up in the dim light. "Stun gun. And this." She softly patted the collapsed police baton on her hip, taken from one of her . . . _missions._

Renegade raised an eyebrow. "Police issue, huh?"

Emily nodded. "Yep. Borrowed, I guess you could say."

"Huh." Renegade stood in silence for a moment. "Does Gordon know about it?"

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

Renegade chuckled. "Looks like we aren't all on the side of the law, are we?"

Emily shook her head before stopping again. "The panting—it's gone." Renegade listened again, and he saw that she was right.

"Keep on your guard."

"Like I said, I have been this whole time."

Renegade stepped further, his foot clomping into the puddle. He bit back a curse; he needed to be careful and watch his footing. If he didn't . . . well, he didn't want to think of what might happen. He just _couldn't _let it happen. He had to be careful or else—

As he took another step, a roaring shriek filled the air as a massive shape hurled itself forward. Renegade couldn't even yell out a warning to Emily before the massive thing slammed into him, knocking him off his feet. Thankfully, Emily realized it just in time to duck down and avoid the flying vigilante, who landed with a thud in the watery stream.

Renegade grunted as he rolled onto his feet, huffing. The surprise attack had been unexpected; that was the whole point of a surprise, wasn't it? He glanced up to check on Emily . . . but she was gone.

"Emily?!" he called, worried and confused at once.

**It's okay . . . just keep calm. Nothing to worry about. I'm still here.**

Renegade was overcome with some strange sensation. The voice—it was unrecognizable, almost as if it wasn't a voice. But all the same, it was there. But who? It had to be Emily—who else could it be? But why was it different from how she normally sounded? And where w_as _she?

"Where'd you go? I can't see you!"

**Don't worry. I'll fill you in later. just keep your little friend occupied so I can get behind him.**

"Okay," Renegade murmured. "I'll do my best."

Renegade raised his gaze, leveling his eyes on the bat creature. The stories . . . he hadn't doubted their sincerity, as he had seen a lot of things and experienced a lot as well. But his thoughts hadn't prepared him for what it might actually be.

The creature was enormously tall, and the leathery wings, feral eyes, and sharp claws all came together for a menacing sight, straight out of one's nightmares. The creature just stood there, its beady, yellow eyes drilling holes into Renegade. If looks could kill. . .

Slowly, he got to his feet, raising the two revolvers. "Okay . . . let's just do this nice and easy."

The creature lunged forward, and Renegade squeezed the triggers, ducking to the ground. As he rolled, the creature drove ahead and barely flinched as the rubber bullets slammed into its body. When it missed Renegade, the creature turned and stopped, hissing loudly and baring its claws.

"Now would be a good time to step in," Renegade muttered. "My guns don't seem to be too useful."

No reply came. Not verbally, at least. While Renegade stood, a _zap _sounded as the creature shuddered, letting out a shriek of pain. It turned, and Renegade could see the barbs of Emily's stun gun in his back. He grinned as he holsters his guns and reached for his bo-staff, charging forward.

The creature swatted, clawing away the wire of the stun gun and ripping the barbs from his back. Flecks of blood sprayed, and Emily suddenly reappeared to vision. The creature hunched over and roared loudly as Emily ejected the spent cartridge, her hand flying to her belt for another.

The Bat leapt ahead, arms flailing, when Renegade suddenly lunged forward, his bo-staff coming in front of the creature's throat. Pressing the shaft against the thing's neck, he held each side of it so he had it in a headlock, of sorts. Renegade firmly pressed his boots into the creature's back, holding on tightly.

With a roar of rage, the Bat swung around trying to throat Renegade from it. Seeing its plan did not come to fruition, the Bat seemingly gave a defeated grunt and began to clamber forward on all fours.

Emily dove out of the way, pressing up against the slime-ridden walls of the sewer tunnel. _I'm glad this STAR clothes are waterproof_, she thought as she imagined all the gunk she might be pressing her back against.

As the Bat moved ahead, Renegade realized that it was planning on escaping with him on its back. Not wanting to let go, he glanced back and yelled, "Get the others! I'll try and keep it around as much as I can!"

Emily nodded as the Bat rounded a corner, taking Renegade with it. She stood frozen in shock for a second, taking in all that she had just seen and been through. Then, shaking her head as if to clear it, she tore off and ran down the tunnels to find some help.

* * *

Annalise was sitting on the sofa in the lounge, a youthful, beaming grin spreading across her freckled face. She let out a chuckle as Dante walked past. "What's so funny?"

Glancing up, Annalise tucked a loose orange curl off of her forehead. "Nothing too much—I was just looking at the paper." She crumpled it as she folded it to focus on one page, handing it to Dante. "Have you ever seen this?"

Dante took the paper, skimming over it with his eyes. After reading a bit, he grinned too. "Oh. _Gotham's Goons. _You haven't seen that before?"

"No," Annalise answered. "What is it, some kind of column? Is it published often?"

"Just about every week. Even more active than that. The guy who runs it—they've got some website they publish daily articles on anonymously. Some of the stuff is pretty funny—and true. The author holds no punches, they'll talk about whoever they want. Recently, the articles have been directed at Falcone and Cobblepot. Some at city officials."

"The name sounds true enough," she said. Dante nodded.

"Yeah. The author just better stay anonymous though. Something tells me that Falcone and Cobblepot aren't two to let their names go on sullied like that."

The door to the lounge swung open, and the desk officer stepped in. "Is the Commissioner here?" she asked.

Annalise stood up and followed Dante towards the desk officer. "No," Dante answered, "he's out checking on the giant bat creature. Why, what is it?"

The desk officer's face darkened. "Some woman just called in. Says her daughter is missing."

"Missing? As in ran away?" Annalise prodded.

"No. She says kidnapped."

Annalise and Dante exchanged a glance. "We can take care of it," Dante said, as if to reassure Annalise and to answer the desk officer.

"Are you sure?" the officer said. "I think we should contact Commissioner—"

"Don't worry," Dante affirmed with a grin. "I'll take care of it all." He turned to Annalise. "Go get the others. See if one of them wants to wait around to fill Gordon in on what's happened. I'll try to found out all the details I can."

Annalise nodded. "Will do."

* * *

The Bat continued running, Renegade wrapped around its neck. "Why—won't—you—stop—running!" he spat out, occasionally putting pressure on the creature's neck. To no avail, as it would always retaliate by swatting a leather wing into his face.

Up ahead, light broke through the darkness. _The entrance_, Renegade thought. _Maybe the guards can stop this thing._ "Hey! Heads up!" he yelled, hoping to get their attention.

He did so, in the worst possible way.

The cop standing guard simply turned and walked towards the tunnel entrance, unaware of what was approaching. He stepped into view just in time to see the Bat soar by, and it hissed. The cop screamed as the creature fell upon him, and Renegade heard the snap of teeth and the ripping of flesh. His face fell into a look of disgust as he ripped one of his revolvers from its holster, slamming the barrel into the back of the creature's neck.

He pulled the trigger, and the rubber bullet bore into the creature's skin—actually, it tore some of it. Blood began to dribble onto Renegade's uniform, and the thing let out a horrid roar. It began to beat its wings, causing Renegade to lose his grip. His pistol fell to the ground and he just barely had enough time to tighten his grip on the staff again, clinging to the creature's back.

"Hold it right there!" a voice called out, and both Renegade and the Bat turned to see a pair of cops run close, rifles in their hands. One dropped to his knee as the other leveled his gun, and before Renegade could warn them to watch their fire, the Bat swept its wings in a massive gust. Suddenly, it was lifted up and off into the air, tearing through the Gotham sky.

The cops fired their rifles, but their shots missed their marks. As the shooting ceased, footsteps came from the tunnel. The two cops turned to see Gordon, Emily, Vermin, Bullock, Matt, Romero, and Nansi exiting the tunnel, and Gordon came to a stop beside the cops. "Was that Renegade on that thing's back?!" he yelled.

Emily nodded. "Yeah. He said he was going to try and keep it around. He must've not had much luck."

Gordon sighed as he turned to the cops. "Get on the radio and have a helicopter down here. We need eyes on that creature, _now_." The two cops nodded and one reached for his radio, making the call.

Gordon turned and strode towards the downed cop, lying in a pool of blood. He knelt down beside him and looked at the wound in the man's throat. The razor-like teeth had torn through his neck almost instantly, and his eyes were still and dead, just like the rest of him.

Closing his eyes, Gordon sighed again. He got to his feet and lifted his eyes to the direction the creature had flown in. Bullock stepped to him, hands in his pockets. "Don't worry, Commissioner. We'll get that thing—and kill it."

Gordon let out a sardonic laugh. "And how many people are going to die before we do that, Bullock?"

* * *

**A/N: Hello everyone! Sorry for the delay in the release of this chapter, but I've just been pretty busy that last couple of weeks. I'm hoping to get back to working on this consistently now that college courses are winding down, so I'll have a lot more free time to do some work with. Anyways, this chapter got us to see a bit of a confrontation with the Bat, as well as some insight into the villains' plans. Things will continue to ramp up soon. Hope you all enjoyed it! Please leave your thoughts in the reviews, I appreciate them all! And again, if you have any questions or suggestions, feel free to PM me. Until next time.**


	22. Chapter 21 - The Awakening

**Chapter 21 - "The Awakening"**

Scarlet was sitting in Alex's apartment, spinning in the computer chair at the desk where her computer was plugged in. Even though her dorm was home away from home, she spent a lot of time at Alex's, and that was where her setup was. It wouldn't be smart to just leave a lot of high-tech computer equipment lying around in the dormitory, now would it?

"Alex, where are you," she muttered, staring at the ceiling. She had been waiting for hours for a checkup from him, but nothing had come in. She was beginning to get worried. She thought about calling him up, but that wouldn't be smart. If he was in the middle of something, she'd feel like his mom, checking up to make sure everything was all right. But if something had gone—

_"__Scarlet!" _Alex's voice blared through the computer's speakers. Scarlet nearly leapt from the chair before she brushed a loose strand of red hair out of her face, spinning to face the computer.

"Alex! Thank God you're all right. I was worried sick—"

"Scarlet, I do _not _have time to talk right now!"

Scarlet stopped and cocked her head, curious. "Alex . . . what did you do?"

"I didn't—_ugh_—do anything! I happened to be in the wrong—_uh_—place at the wrong—_ack_—time!"

"Alex, you don't sound all right. Talk to me."

"I'll have to make this quick," Alex said between breaths. "We, uh . . . we found the bat creature."

"That's good."

"Yeah, but I'm wrapped around its neck—_whoa_!"

"Alex!" Scarlet screamed. Her heart was pounding _fast—_he didn't sound too good.

"I'm still hanging on . . . literally. Listen—I need you to home in on my GPS. You gotta find out where I'm at and get me on some level ground. If this goes on any longer, I'm gonna wind up as a stain on the sidewalk."

"I don't need any images like that in my mind," Scarlet muttered as her fingers flew across the keyboard. Within moments, she had his GPS signal locked. "You're over King's Way," she murmured. "There's a construction zone next to bus stop on the next street over. Some sort of business—LexCorp, maybe?"

Alex grunted through the comm channel. "All right. I'll try and bring him down there. Get the GPS location to Gordon. I don't know how long I'll be able to tangle with him. I may be able to recover from injuries better than most, but that won't help me if I'm dead."

Scarlet nodded. "Again, cut it out with the mental images."

"Sorry."

Scarlet bit her lip and her hands froze over the keyboard. "Alex, please—just be careful."

"I will."

"And Alex—"

Her words were cut off by a scream from Alex and the sounds of a harsh impact with some surface. She stopped, waited for a moment, but heard nothing. With a sigh, she quickly got to work transmitting Alex's location to Gordon.

* * *

They moved in unison, as one but separate all the same. The shadows clung to the walls of the stone-walled fortress, keeping hidden. _It would not do to give ourselves away_, the Leader process mentally. _We must keep hidden until all is clear._

The Leader moved ahead, followed by five others, all of them shrouded in shadow. They wore loose-fitting black robes, all bare of any symbols or markings of any kind. His was the only one that was not uniform, gold embroidery decorating it. They were runes, characters of a time long past.

The Leader glanced to the left, then to the right. "Kass," he muttered, and one of the figures behind stepped close, cocking his head to show he was listening. "Search the area and form a perimeter. If anyone comes nearby . . . stop them."

Kass bowed his hooded head. "Yes, sir," he whispered before gesturing to the others, and they all filed out of the shadows down the two paths that forked away from one lone, stone-paved road. A road the Leader needed to walk alone.

He continued on, moving slowly, as if time was on his side. He let his hand drag along the wall, feeling some mystic energy funneling through the skin of his fingertips. This place . . . it dripped of some powerful magic. Someone strong in the mystic arts was here—or had been here.

The Leader kept moving, picking up the pace. He couldn't spend all day here and consider the possibilities about the mysteries concerning this place. He would like to, but he couldn't. Time was _not _on his side.

He finally came to a stop at a chamber. It was mostly bare, all except for a pair of armored guards. They looked right out of a bygone era, like majestic knights tasked to guard a ward.

A smile licked at the Leader's lips as he saw the barred cell he had been searching for. _Perhaps they were guarding a ward, _he thought as he stepped into clear view.

First one guard saw him, then the other. They both reached for swords slung at their hips, drawing them as iron rang against the swords' scabbards. One man spoke, "Intruder—you are not welcome here."

The Leader's clipped, aristocratic tones came alive as he spoke in return. "You have something that I desire." He pointed towards the cell. "Your prisoner. He would prove a fine asset to my . . . cause."

The other guard sniggered. "You've got the wrong picture, friend. We've been given a mission, and we aim to fulfill it." He twirled the sword in his hand before adding, "If you want him, you're gonna have to go through _us_."

The Leader's smile only widened. He had wanted this. "So be it."

Within a flash, he leapt from the stairs, and a gleaming blade of some ancient design was suddenly in his hands. Before the first guard could react, the sword had already glinted in the light of the chamber as the blade sang, cleaving across the guard's throat. As his decapitated form collapsed with a clatter to the ground, the Leader ducked to avoid his companion's attack. He quickly parried one strike, then another, before he spun with both body and blade, driving the point through the man's stomach.

As the guard gasped, blood dribbling from the wound, the Leader withdrew his blade and let the dying man sink to the floor. He sheathed his weapon and moved towards the cell, calling the keys from one of the guards' belts into his hand. He slowly reached down and inserted the key, unlocking the door.

It swung open on old hinges, squeaking not with rust but with age. Despite its years, the fortress still had certain youthful qualities, much like its guardians. It was ancient but well-kept. _Unfortunately for the guards, their skills were no match for mine._

From within, he saw a sight that he had beheld only in visions, those that had led him here for this very purpose. A figure was standing—no, lying—in a pocket of mystic power, floating as if entranced. The man inside looked asleep and at peace.

The Leader stepped close and inspected the bubble that the man was trapped within. "A time pocket," he mused, smiling. "Well-made, and powerful. But not powerful enough." Slowly, he snapped his fingers, and with it some mystical energy transferred from his body into the living realm, creating some metamorphosis to occur within the time pocket. It began to swirl and shift until, finally, it began to fade away into nothing, leaving the man to buckle to his knees. He would have fallen to the ground had the Leader not caught him.

Slowly and carefully, he laid the unconscious figure on the stone surface. He was unmoving; years of sleep and peace had that effect. The Leader mumbled some words—an incantation of the magical arts—and placed his opened palm on the man's forehead. The Leader closed his eyes and funneled his energy through his palm into the unconscious, sleeping figure.

His life energy seemed to flip a switch within as the man kicked to life, shaking and convulsing as the Leader withdrew his hand from the man's head. After a few moments of twitching, he stopped, and his eyelids snapped open, revealing eyes the dark green of a forest, encircled in a ring of yellow. He slowly sat up and began to breathe heavily. "Where . . . where am I?" he asked, glancing to the Leader.

The Leader took in the young man's appearance. He looked to be in his early twenties, but it was just an illusion. He was much older than that, it was clear to anyone of the capabilities the Leader possessed. His orange hair, a mess from years of being untouched, ran across his shoulders, framing a handsome and freckled face. He rubbed it, clearing his eyes.

"Iceland," the Leader murmured. "Do you not remember? You have been imprisoned here, for hundreds of years."

"Iceland," the man repeated. His eyes glazed over with a sudden rush of rage. "Yes. Yes. My . . . sister." The eyes suddenly returned to their normal appearance, and he whispered, "Annalise."

The Leader nodded, a grim smile adorning his lips. "Yes. Your sister—Annalise Blackwood. Do you remember your name?"

The man slowly nodded. "Hendrick. Hendrick Blackwood."

"Very good," the Leader remarked with an air of confidence. "You remember why she locked you away, don't you?"

Hendrick nodded again. "Moras Abolon . . . his spirit . . . it lives within me."

"That it does. And it will forever. When you killed him, you welcomed him into your soul. He is a part of you and will be for all eternity—unless one of you dies before then."

Hendrick glanced up, his expression quizzical. "How do you know this?"

"I am a student of the magical arts, you might see. A scholar, mystic, whatever you prefer. I have studied the histories of the world and know a great deal about . . . well, about everything." He stood up and seemed to stare off into the distance. "I have lived through a great deal of it."

Slowly, cautiously, Hendrick got up. He gripped onto the wall for aid as he strengthened his footing. "My sister . . . where is she?"

The Leader pondered his question and almost answered before he decided not to. "That is not important at the moment. What _is_ important is getting you back to full health, so that you might be of aid to me."

"Aid you? I don't even know you."

"That is true, but it is I who has given you a second chance at life. Your sister—she abandoned you, locked you away for all eternity." He could see Hendrick's eyes glossing over. _The boy is confused, afraid, and alone. _"She left you alone. But it is I who came and freed you. I heard the tales of how you and she defeated Abolon. It was a heroic act; you sacrificed your very soul to defeat such a villain as him. And how does she repay you? She locks you away because you tried to survive.

"I will not treat you this way." The Leader stepped from the cell into the adjoining chamber. "In fact, I welcome the opportunity for you to further your power. You have a special gift: embrace it." He gestured towards the mass of the fortress. "There is an entire garrison waiting out there. You can take them all, use their energy to strengthen yourself. They are the ones your sister appointed to keep you here. She gave them power when she gave you no help. They have her magic protecting them, keeping them fit and able to fight.

"If you join me, you will have powers beyond measure. You will be unstoppable, and you will have all that you have ever wanted. Freedom to live and be who you are." The Leader grinned. "What say you?"

Hendrick continued to breathe, trying to regain a sense of life in an era where he had been asleep for so long. It was then that he heard the wheezing of the dying guard on the floor. His eyes turned to him, his hand clutching at the hole that the Leader had drilled through him.

Hendrick glanced to the Leader before kneeling down beside the wounded man. He rolled the body over, and the warrior looked into his eyes. His own were filled with fear and worry, a dread of the approaching death that awaited him. "Please . . . please, help me," he murmured, and Hendrick swallowed hard as the dark shadow clouded his eyes again.

Slowly, he reached out and placed a hand on the man's chest and closed his eyes. The man began to stare in wonder before he began to grunt and groan, before the grunts swelled into screams. He began to shriek horridly in agony and pain, and his lungs emptied into the once-still air.

Finally, his screams subsided and he fell limp. Hendrick stood, leaving the dead man alone. He glanced up, and the Leader saw his eyes were now fully alive, restored with a thirst for vengeance. "I am with you."

The Leader's grin only widened. "Good." He reached down and took up the warrior's sword and held it out. Hendrick took it, turned, and strode up the stairs.

_Everything is going according to plan._

* * *

Annalise was exiting the GCPD complex with Dante and Mia. "I guess we can each drive separate, in case something comes up," Annalise suggested, and the others nodded their agreement.

"Sounds good. What's that address again?" Mia asked, lifting up her phone.

"1119 Mile's Way. Family's name is Jennings," Dante supplied, and Mia nodded as she tapped the info into her phone's GPS.

"Got it." She offered a slight smile before ducking into her car. "See you guys there."

As Mia started up her car and drove off, Annalise stepped towards her motorcycle. "You go on. I'll follow behind."

Dante nodded and got into his VW, the conglomeration of colors humming to life before it began its movement down the street. Annalise gripped her helmet in her hands, reaching up to latch it onto her head. But just as she did so, a cold feeling entered her chest.

"What the—" she started before the cold, tingling feeling turned into one of burning pain. She brushed a hand against her chest, but the feeling was not soothed. Annalise pressed a hand against her bike as she began to feel woozy and dizzy, her head spinning and sloshing through a muddy bank as her mind turned over on itself.

Her head began to throb in pain and she let out a slight whimper of pain, clutching her head tightly with both hands. Then, suddenly, it all faded, and an image passed into Annalise's mind. The face was one she knew all too well and hoped she'd never have to see again—not because she didn't, but because she knew what it would mean if she did.

"Hendrick," she said in almost a whisper before her knees buckled, she lost balance, and collapsed to the cement. She was unconscious before she hit the ground.

* * *

Alex grunted as he rolled onto his side, gripping his sore shoulder tightly. The Bat was on its feet, staring at him and flaring its nostrils angrily.

"Okay, ugly. Wanna play? I'm ready for you."

Slowly, Alex got to his feet and reached for his bo-staff. Immediately as his hand, the Bat let out a roar and charged ahead.

Alex dodged the charging beast as he whipped the bo-staff free, twirling it and letting it crash into the monster's backside. The Bat screeched and leapt into the other, practically somersaulting as its leathery wings carried it up and onto its feet. The creature opened its mouth wide and roared, phlegm flying from its lips.

Shaking his head in disgust, Alex reached for his gunbelt and realized he had only one sidearm left. _Must've lost my other one. _Without wasting a moment, he drew his lone pistol and squeezed the trigger, several rounds flying at the Bat. One rubber bullet collided with the Bat's chest, while another clipped a wing. Alex fired another and this one actually tore _through _the wing, eliciting a scream of anguish from the Bat as it glanced to the wound, a small hole bore through the leathery flesh.

_Whoops, _Alex thought. He had meant to stop the creature, not actually shoot a hole in it. In response, the Bat roared loudly and lunged forward, swiping a clawed hand at Alex. He batted it away with his staff, swinging again and crashing the end into the Bat's head.

It roared and lunged forward, slamming Alex into the ground. He grunted and groaned as his head collided with the cement. A throbbing pain rattled through his skull as the Bat leapt over him. It bared its fangs before a light illuminated the construction site.

Both Alex and the Bat glanced up to see a GCPD helicopter hovering in the air. Gordon's voice sounded over a megaphone—"This is the GCPD! Hold it right there!"

The Bat, its eyes transfixed, didn't see Alex reach for his belt. He withdrew a pair of R-rangs and hurled them both. The Bat's reflexes kicked in quickly as it sharply deflected one, but the other buried itself in its skin. The Bat shrieked out as the electric volts zapped its body, sending terrible pain throughout it.

With a final scream, the Bat turned and dove off the rooftop, gliding away into the night.

Alex began to huff, out of breath, as his adrenaline cooled off. He heard the helicopter draw nearer before footsteps sounded on the rooftop. He glanced up to see Gordon, Matt, and Sean standing around him. Matt extended a hand, helping him to his feet.

"You all right?" Matt asked as Alex nodded, brushing off his clothes.

"Yeah." He grinned. "Mostly." He glanced to Gordon. "The cop that he attacked—how is he?"

Gordon shook his head. "Dead. Didn't even have time to call EMS."

Alex looked to the ground, clenching his fist.

_Another person dead because I didn't act well enough. How many more before this is all said and done?_

* * *

**A/N: Hello everyone! Here's chapter 21. We get to see a bit more light being shed on the main plot and our main villain. Don't worry, more will come soon - and we'll get to see some more downtime between our heroes next chapter. As always, leave your thoughts in the reviews! I always love to hear them. Until next time.**


	23. Chapter 22 - House Call

**Chapter 22 - "House Call"**

"Dear sister. You never thought you'd see me again, did you?"

Hendrick's voice cut Annalise like ice. The words were cold, emotionless, heartless—the same as they were when she had to face him. When she had to lock him away in abandonment.

Her head was swimming. It ached and throbbed with pain. Slowly, she fluttered her eyes open and took in the atmosphere around her.

No, not atmosphere . . . just a dark abyss. Space without the stars. It was just pure black, with no other offsetting colors. She seemed as if she was at the end of time itself, with nothing ahead and nothing behind.

There was one thing, actually—_him_. Hendrick. He was standing—or was it floating?—before her, a figure contrasting the dark. He was clad in olive green attire, the kind of clothes he always favored when they were on good terms. _He must still have some ties to the old Hendrick._

"Hendrick," Annalise muttered, her voice little above a whisper. "What—where are you?"

"Do you not remember the place you locked me in? The Icelandic castle, fortified with ranks of soldiers to protect me and keep me locked away in peace?"

Annalise's mouth hung agape. Who could have broken in and freed him, cut through the guards?

"Your little band of guardians were rather pathetic, dear Annalise." A wicked smile cut across his handsome face. "They're taken care of. Not much of a threat, really. You see, keeping me locked away has not dampened my skills with a sword—or with magic."

Annalise ignored his words—she knew it was Hendrick's way of boasting of his feats. He did it playfully when they were younger, but once Abolon's spirit took over, it was not playful. Not in the least. "How did you get free? Who—"

"The 'who' and 'why' is of no importance, dear sister," Hendrick continued, his voice suddenly icy again. "My benefactor and ally has enlisted me in a cause that is going to let me achieve my full potential and not be held back in any way by a troublesome meddler's high-minded ideals and morals.

"You felt I was too rough or, daresay, evil, killing to stay alive." His grin was now a shell, funneling out pure evil from within. This was not Annalise's brother—she knew that. What little bit of soul that was still there was shrouded behind Abolon's evil spirit. "My ally does not see things in the same narrow-minded light as you."

His eyes narrowed. "He knows what you're up to, Annalise. And with me, he'll be able to strike true. Your pitiful little band may be enough to fight some gangsters and crooks—" he laughed "—but not us. Not even close.

With a last grin, he added, "We'll meet again, my dear sister. I guarantee that."

And then, he was gone.

* * *

"Annalise! _Annalise!_"

The yelling caused Annalise's eyes to flutter open again, but this time she saw the low, orange-hued lights of Gotham's skyline. She was no longer in disembodied.

"Annalise!" the voice called again. Slowly, she rose to her backside, and found she was on the sidewalk outside the GCPD complex. _How long have I been out?_ she thought to herself.

She glanced up to see John jogging towards her. He quickly got down to one knee beside her. "What's wrong?"

"What?" Annalise asked, deciding to play off his concerns. "Nothing's wrong."

John arched an eyebrow. "Are you sure? Generally, most people don't lie around in the streets when they're feeling perfectly fine."

Annalise gave him a playful grin as she shrugged her shoulders. "I'm not like most people," she said as she started to get to her feet. John reached to her, and she took his hand in hers as he helped her up.

She started to stride for her motorcycle before John wrapped his hand around her bicep softly. "Hey—are you sure everything's all right? You don't look well."

Annalise nodded. "Yes, I'm sure. I'm perfectly fine. I was just headed to meet the others at this house to handle a kidnapping call—"

John snorted, shaking his head. "I'm afraid you're a little late. Dante called Gordon when you didn't show, and he sent me here to look for you."

"Sent?" Annalise countered, glancing to the complex. "Couldn't they have gotten someone inside to check on me?"

A tinge of red touched John's cheeks, and he bit his lip. "Well . . . I offered."

"Aw," Annalise cooed jokingly. "My knight in," she started before glancing to his dirtied, soiled outfit, "not-so-shining armor."

John ruffled his long dark hair, shuffling uncomfortably on his feet. "Erm—what's the deal with this kidnapping?" he asked, hoping to change the subject.

Annalise decided she wouldn't press it. "Not sure. That's what we were going to figure out. Some woman said her daughter disappeared. That's pretty much all we know." She gestured to her bike. "Wanna head over and see what we can find out?"

Casually, John shrugged. "Sure. The group kind of dispersed. Renegade got a bit beat up and Gordon tried to get him to go to the ER to get checked out, but he kind of nosed out of it. He headed off to rest, I think. Emily went back to her place—seems that family problems rose up."

"Anything serious?"

"No," John said with a chuckle. "Unless taking care of a little kid is serious."

He and Annalise both laughed as Annalise slung a leg over the bike and John turned to his. As he started, though, Annalise glanced up and eyed him, bit her own lip, and then said, "John." He stopped and looked to her, and she motioned for him to come back.

"What's up?"

Annalise looked around nervously, as if she was going to tell him a secret and didn't want anyone around to eavesdrop. When she was sure no one was around, and she whispered, "Something actually did happen." She nodded to the cement. "To make me fall down, I mean."

John looked around, as if the cause was right there in plain sight. "What?" he asked.

Letting out a sharp sigh, Annalise muttered, "My brother."

"What about your brother?" The look on John's face was one of pure confusion.

Annalise pursed her lips before she finally said, "I guess I'd better go ahead and bring it up. I should've done that back when we all first met, but we haven't really had time to discuss things. And, well, I kind of felt like it was something I'd want to keep under wraps.

"You see, I'm five hundred years old."

John looked like he was the one who was about to wind up on the sidewalk. "F-five _hundred_?" he asked, clearly doubtful but not quite viewing it as an impossibility.

"Yes."

"Well, I can say you've aged well."

Annalise gave him a quick grin signifying a "thank you," but quickly continued. "It's all too much to get into right now, but my brother Hendrick and I were both subjected to a powerful spell when we were young—almost the age I appear now. He was able to keep from aging, and I had powers to help me control time. Hence why I am able to stop my own aging process.

"The mystic who did this to us—a man named Moras Abolon—tried to hunt us down, but we were able to defeat him. His spirit somehow festered within Hendrick, however, and it slowly ate away until Hendrick couldn't take it anymore and killed himself. That gave Abolon complete control. He then continued gain power until I had to fight Hendrick." She paused, the memories flooding her mind once more. "I was able to confine him into a pocket of time. He's been locked away ever since, in an Icelandic fortress.

"But just now I had some sort of vision, or a premonition. I could _feel _Hendrick, as if he was right next to me. Then I blacked out and woke up in some realm, where I saw him. And he told me that this new ally had freed him and they had defeated the guards at the castle."

She glanced up, her eyes searching John's. "He said that he and his new ally had no moral code, and that we would meet again. I think he's headed to Gotham."

John stood in silence, absorbing it all, as he stared into Annalise's eyes. The twin forests seemed to drill into him, searching him for some kind of answer or reasoning behind it all. "I—" he started before she cut him off.

"I know, I know. I'm delusional, right, for thinking that I'm five hundred years old and have magic powers and my brother has teamed up with some evil person to kill and dominate? That's what you're thinking, isn't it?"

"Actually," John started, giving her a comforting grin, "no. I was going to say that I believe you."

Annalise raised an eyebrow. "You _do_?"

John nodded. "Yes. You see, I'm actually over two hundred."

Now it was Annalise's turn to be stunned. "You _are_?"

John's grin only widened. "Sure am. My powers didn't come from any mystic, though—they come from a dragon deity named Kuaion. He gave me these ice powers that he bestows upon a subject every century. When I was a kid, though, this evil person named Ra's al Ghul came to my village and tried to coerce me into joining this collective with him. I refused, and when I fought back, I was frozen in ice."

Annalise chuckled. "Just like me, except I was only frozen in time. Two peas in a pod, huh?"

John shrugged. "Looks like it. Sorry to steal your thunder by being a couple hundred years old too."

"Eh, don't let it drag you down, kid. I'm still about twice your age."

_"__Kid?" _John exclaimed. Annalise shot a wink at him, and John chuckled, shaking his head. "I'll remember that. When the opportunity comes to make a crack about you being an old-timer, I'll remember that."

"Sure thing, kid." Annalise grinned, clamping her helmet on her head as she revved up her bike. "Just try to keep up."

As she sped away, John hurried to his motorcycle and climbed on it. As he gunned the engine, he said aloud, "I hope this doesn't become a running joke."

* * *

Scarlet was sitting at the desk, on edge. Where was Alex? He hadn't reported back in since he had lost connection with her. For all she knew, he could be lying in a ditch somewhere bleeding, or worse.

Suddenly, she heard a rapping on the window. She spun around and saw him there, gripping onto the edge. She held back a chain of curses as she hurried over, sliding the window open. Alex crawled inside as Scarlet closed the window behind them.

"Where were you?!" she yelled. "I've been sitting here worried for like an hour! You didn't call me back or anything!"

"Shh!" Alex quickly said, placing a hand on each of Scarlet's shoulders. "Be quiet, or someone might hear you."

Scarlet huffed, clamping her lips together as she heatedly crossed her arms, her chest heaving with heavy breaths. She turned at an angle away from him. Alex groaned. "Please, not this again."

"What do you mean, 'Please, not this again'? You could've been dead for all I knew!"

Alex sighed as he removed the domino mask from his face. "I know, and I thought about that. But my radio was destroyed."

"I don't want to hear— What?" Scarlet started, slowly turning to him. Alex stripped the trench coat from his body as he fished around in one of the pockets, withdrawing the remnants of his radio.

"When the giant bat creature slammed me to the ground, the radio got jostled loose and he destroyed it. So I couldn't use it."

"Oh." Scarlet dribbled her fingers on her arm. "In that case . . . oh, Alex, I'm sorry."

She rushed to him and threw her arms around his neck, burying her face into his chest. "I shouldn't have yelled. I'm sorry, it's just that I get so on edge whenever you go out and do these things—I always fear the worst."

Alex slowly wrapped his arms around her back, rubbing it softly. "It's all right, Scar. Really."

She glanced up. "You sure?" she asked. Alex could see the tears forming in her eyes.

He gave her a warm smile. "I'm sure." It suddenly dawned on him how close he was to Scarlet right now. Her, pressed up against him in a hug, and staring up at him. His lip quivered as he slowly began to lean down, and Scarlet backed away quickly.

She let out a nervous laugh. "Your—your uniform is a mess, isn't it?" she managed to say.

"Huh? Oh, yeah," Alex muttered, glancing to his outfit. It had a couple tears in it, and some splotches of blood. "I must've been—hey."

Scarlet glanced to him. "What?"

"This blood here—it's a different shade of red than mine." His eyes widened and he snapped his head up to look at Scarlet.

"The Bat's?" she said, vocalizing his suspicions.

He nodded. "I think so. Then that means we can get this to the GCPD's forensic labs and they can try to trace it, find it who—or what—this thing is."

Scarlet grinned. "The master detective."

Alex shrugged. "Hey—I learned from the best."

"What do you mean? Batman's only been around for, what, a year? You couldn't have possibly learned that much from him."

"Well," Alex started, "you've gotta start somewhere."

* * *

Emily sauntered into the back room of the hotel. Grace was standing there, garbed in a white-spotted black dress as she was placing a bowl before Jill and sputtering off commands. When she saw Emily, Grace's face—which looked as if she was in the mad rush of an uber-busy Black Friday—became much calmer and more repressed.

"Oh, Emily—am I glad to see you."

Emily grinned. "Glad I was able to break free. We had a bit of an . . . incident."

"Incident? What kind of incident?" Albert asked, entering from the lobby. He was fixing the collar to his white dress shirt. It was still quite a mess.

"Oh, nothing too important," Emily lied. "I'll tell you all about it when you get back. Where are you going, anyways?"

"Dinner with the Batsons," Grace answered, stepping to Albert. She swatted his hand away and he let it fall, huffing playfully. As he struck an indignant pose, she began to straighten out his collar. "Dear, you look like a mess."

"Well, haven't I always?"

Grace held her tongue and grinned at Albert. "As difficult as ever." She shot a glance over her shoulder. "Hard to believe he was even worse in his wild days."

"Wild days? I'm just in the prime of life," Albert said, giving a wink to Emily while Grace's back was turned.

"Oh, is that why you broke your leg on that motorcycle?" Grace asked, arching an eyebrow.

"_That _wasn't my fault."

"Don't say it's mine!" Grace exclaimed.

"It wasn't." He nodded to Emily. "It was Emily's."

"What?!"

"Oh, come now, Albert. Quit picking at Emily."

"Okay, then. It was Jill's fault."

Jill's eyes narrowed as she glanced up to her parents. "What's my fault, Daddy?" she asked, her fingers coated in cheeseball dust.

"_Nothing_, sweetie," Grace said as she shook her head. Emily fought to hold back the laugh that Albert was trying oh so hard to draw out. "Come on, we'd better hurry or we'll be late."

"Have fun," Emily called, stroking Jill's hair.

"Thanks," Grace replied as she reached for her purse. "There's some food in the fridge—you can fix whatever you and Jill want. We might be home a little late, so if it gets to Jill's bedtime, just put her to sleep."

"Will do."

They both went for the exit before Grace turned on her heel. "And if anything comes up—"

Emily chuckled. "I know, I know, don't hesitate to call. I'll remember."

Albert wrapped an arm around Grace's waist. "Come on honey, we'll be late if you keep giving out instructions."

She nodded and glanced back to Emily and Jill. "Love you guys. See you later."

"See you later. Love you too," Emily answered, while Jill yelled out, "Bye-bye Mommy! Bye-bye Daddy!" and waved ecstatically.

Once they had left, the door slammed shut and Emily crossed her arms. "So, Jill, what do you feel up to doing tonight?"

Jill shrugged her shoulders as she popped the last cheeseball into her mouth. "I dunno. Something fun. I don't feel sleepy at all!"

Emily rolled her eyes. It was the same thing every night. Within an hour of saying that Jill was already falling fast asleep. "Let's make up stories."

Emily shrugged. "If that's what you want to do."

* * *

John came to a stop behind Annalise. As they both got off their bikes, they saw Mia moving quickly towards them. Annalise quickly shot a glance to John. "Do you mind keeping the whole thing about Hendrick under wraps for a bit? I want to let them know myself—and in my own time."

John was a bit taken aback. "Wait? But why? I'd think Hendrick being loose would be something rather important."

"It is," Annalise began, "but I can't just throw it out there when there's no cause for alarm. I'll tell Gordon. Maybe he'll have an idea what to do about it."

John nodded. "Whatever you feel is best." Annalise gave him a thankful grin as Mia stopped near them.

"Where have you been? What happened?" Her voice was demanding and seemed to be a mesh of concern and stoic, grounded no-nonsense. "I thought you were right behind us."

"I was," Annalise began, searching for words, "but then I felt a little woozy." She gestured to John. "He stopped by and helped me regain myself."

Mia slowly nodded, flicking her eyes to John. "Oh. Okay. Just . . . glad your all right."

"So," John cut in, breaking the tension, "what's up?"

Mia thumbed to the house. It was a two-story building with tan paneling and burgundy shutters. It looked to be your average, everyday home. "This lady—Mira Jennings—said that her daughter Carrie, who's fifteen, was going to meet some friends at the mall. The friends called and she's a no-show."

"Does it seem . . . I don't know how to say it. Up our alley?" John asked.

"Not really. The girl just headed for the mall and never showed up. The mom's to death—she's adamant it's a kidnapping. She won't believe it's anything else."

"Did you ask if Carrie's the type who might bend the rules to have some fun? Maybe go hang out with some friends she wouldn't want her parents to know about? Boyfriend, something like that?" Annalise asked.

Mia shook her head. "No. Apparently Carrie's always been a model citizen. Never done anything too crazy or out there. Rebellion would be out of her MO."

"Kidnapping does rise up as a possibility in those circumstances," Annalise said. "But we can't paint ourselves into a corner. Where's Gordon?"

Mia gestured with her hand. "Inside, talking with the parents. The dad left work early to be with the mom. She's borderline hysterical."

Annalise glanced to John, then back to Mia. "Let's get in there."

* * *

Emily was right. Within an hour, Jill was asleep.

The "making stories" game was one Emily had done out of boredom once before. There was nothing really fun to do, so she and Jill would pick out people walking by and make up stories about their lives. Most involved some outrageous life, like that of a spy or something.

Really, it was fun for Emily only in times of boredom. But for Jill, it was as if she had found the best game on earth. She _always _wanted to do it. And it drove Emily crazy.

But now Jill was asleep, curled up in Emily's lap with her arms wrapped around Emily's torso and her head buried up into her chest. Emily didn't stir; she didn't want to disturb her.

She sat there, softly rubbing her head, when she heard a soft yet firm voice. "Excuse me."

She nearly jumped out of her skin. She glanced back and saw the young man who she had seen in the lobby a couple of days ago. _How did I not notice him come close? _She glanced down to Jill. Thankfully, she was still fast asleep.

"How . . . how can I help you?" Emily asked. She suddenly felt uncomfortable. She didn't quite know the time, but she felt as if it was getting rather late. Not generally the time customers are asking hotel staff questions. But, all the same, she had to be polite.

He gave her a grin, charismatic as the one from before. "My name's Eric Halstead. I've been staying here the past few days."

"Yes. I know."

Apparently, the awkwardness didn't seem to dampen his spirits. "I was just checking to see what exactly I needed to do to lengthen my stay here. I think I'll be staying on a few days more. Do I just give you the money or wait until your mom gets back? That was your mom, wasn't it?"

"Adopted, yes," Emily said slowly. She began to feel a tingling feeling. _This needs to be over with quickly, or else . . . _

Eric slowly nodded. "I got you." A few moments of silence passed before he added, "So . . . which is it?"

"What?"

"Do I pay you or wait for her?"

_How did he know she was gone? _"You can just wait for her."

He nodded again. "All right. I just wanted to check and make sure." He flashed another grin before giving something of a farewell salute. "Thanks."

He turned and strode off, and Emily nodded. "You're welcome." _That was strange._ As he started up the stairs, Emily stood up and held Jill snugly. "Time for bed," she muttered to herself before turning tail and moving quickly for the suite that she and the Langdons shared.

Once she entered, she locked the door behind her. After the encounter with Eric in the lobby, she felt a little unsettled. Besides, Albert and Grace had a key themselves. No one else needed entry back there.

She slowly carried Jill to her room. She began to stir, and Emily whispered, "It's okay, honey. I'll just put you in bed."

Jill began to coo softly in her sleep, and Emily grinned as she drew back the covers. She didn't turn on the room's lights—no sense in bothering Jill any more than she needed to. Slowly and softly, Emily settled her down into the bed and pulled the covers back. She then bent down and kissed her on the cheek before she turned and left the room.

Emily entered her own room and flicked on the light. She got onto her bed and rubbed Vivi for a bit before she booted up her computer. As she settled down, she heard something in the hallway. She began to sit up, a bit on edge, when she saw the knob begin to turn. Her eyes moved to the pillow on her bed, underneath which lied her stun gun. She slowly reached when the door finally opened, and Jill walked in.

"Jill!" Emily exclaimed, sighing. The six-year-old rubbed her eyes. "What're you doing?"

"I'm scared," Jill muttered, sounding very much so. "I think I had a nightmare."

Emily pattered the bed next to her. "You can stay in here with me if you want."

Jill nodded, but didn't move. Emily slowly got to her feet. "Jill—what's wrong?"

Jill began to shake as tears slowly rolled down her cheeks. "Aren't you going to go check? It was right there."

Emily let out a light chuckle. "Check what? What was right there?"

Jill sniffed and wiped her face. "The bat. The giant bat."

Emily froze, stiff as a board. And that's when she heard it. A low, guttural noise filling the air, coming from behind Jill, from the door, from the hallway . . . and from Jill's bedroom.

It was the Bat.

* * *

**A/N: Hello everyone! Here's chapter 22. A bit of a cliffhanger ending, huh? Next chapter will see a showdown with the Bat. And don't worry, this isn't becoming a habit. Things will come to a head with him very soon, and, as you can see, there are other things to fill the team's time. Any thoughts on what might happen? Thank you all again for your support and for being faithful. As I've said before, feel free to PM me with any ideas, suggestions, questions, or whatever, just to shoot the breeze, and leave your thoughts on the chapter in a review. Until next time!**


	24. Chapter 23 - Showdown

**Chapter 23 - "Showdown"**

The group funneled out of the Jennings' house, Gordon in the lead. "Any ideas?" Dante asked, arms crossed.

Gordon stroked his chin. "I'm not sure—not yet, anyways. Usually I'd chalk it up to just a runaway or something, but that doesn't seem to be the case here."

"I don't know what it is," Annalise started, "but something feels off here." She didn't notice John staring at her, mulling over unspoken thoughts in his mind.

"You guys are getting too deep into this," Bullock snorted. "Gotham's a big city. This girl's probably off with some friends. Or there's the possibility that she's been kidnapped or something."

Nansi, who had hung back and been quiet throughout most of the questioning and investigation, raised an eyebrow at this. "You don't sound too upset at the possibility."

Bullock shrugged his shoulders. "You get used to this kind of things on the job."

Gordon glanced to Bullock and the others, sensing the growing apprehension between the group. He knew that things were getting tense, probably a combination of factors—restlessness from the encounter with the Bat and such. Things needed to be disbanded.

"I think we've all been through the ringer tonight," he announced. Nods circled around the group. "You guys can go your separate ways. Meet at the complex, head home, whatever you feel is best. We can regroup tomorrow and go over everything."

"Sounds good to me," Sean said, stretching and letting out a yawn. "I think I'll call it a night." He gave a brisk wave. "I'll see you guys all tomorrow. G'night."

The group waved him off as he left, and Nansi shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. "I think I'll head on too." She gave a sheepish grin. "I'll catch you all tomorrow." She started off towards her bike, parked on the street outside.

Romero's eyes followed Nansi's slim build as she strode towards the curb. "I . . . I, uh, I guess I'd better shove off too. My friends are pretty . . . _nosy _when it comes to these kinds of things." The others laughed and bid him farewell. He gave them a farewell wave as he jogged towards the curb, where his bike was parked behind Nansi's.

"So," he started, "what do you generally do on your downtime?" She shot a glance at him, and he held up his hands. "If I'm not prying, that is."

Nansi's look softened, and she smiled lightly and shook her head. "No, I don't mind. I tend to spend my time learning new cooking methods and stuff like that."

Romero nodded. "Sounds like fun. I wish I could learn to cook. Right now, my culinary skills are shoddy—and my roommates have little better."

Nansi chuckled. "Maybe," she started before she paused, and she glanced to her feet as she stepped closer to her bike. "Maybe," she started again, "we could get together one night. You could have a bit of a break from your roommates' cooking."

Romero felt a grin lick across his face. "Yeah," he answered. "Yeah. I think I'd like that."

"Good." Nansi nodded. "You got any open nights?"

Shrugging, Romero shook his head. "Really anytime is fine with me. As long as it doesn't conflict with this too much, I guess. But I guess that'd factor into it, huh?"

"Yeah." Nansi gave him one last grin. "We can get that sorted out later."

"Yeah. Yeah, sure. Sure thing."

Nansi turned and slung a leg over the Ducati, nodding to him as she revved it up. "See you tomorrow."

"Yeah. See ya."

As she sped up and took off down the road, Romero felt some silly grin coming onto his face. _Knock it off, Romero. Sure, you got a date—no, not a date, just dinner—sure, you got dinner with a cute girl, but that's it. _He turned to his bike and saw Sean out of the corner of his eye, standing by his car, the door open. "So, you scored a date, huh, kid?" he said, a smug grin on his face.

"Shut up," Romero said, erasing the grin from his face as he climbed onto his bike and took off, speeding for his apartment, leaving Sean to chuckle to himself by the car.

* * *

The rest of the group dispersed. Gordon, Bullock, and Dante all agreed to go back to the GCPD complex and go over some evidence and theories and the like. Mia decided she'd go home; said she had to pick up something for her mom. Vermin had already gone her own way after the group left the sewers, as had Matt. That left Annalise, John, and Clyde.

Annalise and John had split away and were by their bikes. "I feel like stopping by somewhere and grabbing a drink. How about you?" Annalise asked.

John shrugged his shoulders. "Fine with me. You got a place in mind?"

"Sure do. There's a club that I've gone to before—they've held some galas and the like. They're pretty good."

"That sounds fine with me."

"Me too," a charming, Southern accent kicked in. Annalise withheld the usual eyeroll as Clyde drew close. Some nice-smelling cologne was filling her nostrils; he may talk cockily and ooze his charm obnoxiously, but he did have some strong-smelling cologne. "What's it called?"

John stiffened slightly. "Who asked you to—"

Annalise cleared her throat and flashed a smile to John, and he inhaled sharply. She turned and gave Clyde a sweet smile. "Leo's. Ever been there before?" she asked, giving him twice the charm he had laid on her. It seemed to give him confidence.

He gave a cocksure smile. "Nope. But it sounds like my kind of place."

_Sure it does. _"Maybe so." She turned to her bike. "It's in the fancy part of Gotham. The Uptown. Just go on Billings Street. You can't miss it; there's a great big sign."

The two men nodded and glanced to one another. Clyde was smiling cockily; John was rather stone-faced. Then, the two went to their vehicles, started them up, and took off behind Annalise.

* * *

"So," Alex started as he exited his bedroom, adjusting the bottom hem of his T-shirt, "were you able to get the blood off?"

"Uh-huh." Scarlet turned away from the cleared table, where Alex's Renegade uniform was spread out. She was holding a clear slide that had a patch of blood on it. "Voila. Giant bat blood." As Alex took the slide and examined it, Scarlet said with a grin, "You need to take better care of your outfit, Alex. It's getting pretty messy."

Alex grinned. "Tends to happen when you're wrestling giant bats and fighting crime."

Scarlet slowly got to her feet, reaching for her jacket. "I guess I'd better head on out. If I'm not back at the dorm soon, they're gonna start going bats. No pun intended."

_"Suuuure," _Alex said, grinning.

Scarlet allowed a smile at her little joke as she flicked a finger on the slide. "You gonna hand that in to Gordon tomorrow?"

"Yep. Maybe there'll be some traces in it that line up with other blood samples. Although I don't possibly know how this bat thing could be human."

"Maybe it isn't, not anymore," Scarlet answered with a shrug. "Time will tell." She smiled and gave him a quick wave. "Let me know how it goes."

"Sure thing." Alex motioned to the door. "Want me to walk you out?"

Scarlet shook her head. "Nah, I'm good. Take care of yourself out there."

"Thanks."

Scarlet exited the apartment, and Alex sighed as he walked into the kitchenette. After withdrawing a water from the refrigerator, he flopped onto the couch and examined the slide even closer, trying to find out what, exactly, he had fought.

_Boy, I wish Batman was here._

* * *

Emily hurriedly slammed her bedroom door shut, twisting the lock. "Jill, get back! _Get back!_" she yelled as she drew nearer to her bed. Vivi was on all fours, eyeing the door as a growl escaped her mouth.

Jill was visibly shaken, and her tears continued to come. "Emily—I'm scared."

"I know, honey. I know." Emily began to feel her nerves kick in. _Come on—not now, not now! _Usually, her nerves wouldn't be a problem. She felt that she could handle the Bat enough so that she could either defeat it or, at the very least, outsmart it. But with Jill there, and the sudden surprise of its presence in the hotel—_that _had caught her off-guard.

She went for her cell phone when a splintering crash came from the door. Shards of wood flew on the paneling of the floor, and Emily turned back around. Quickly, she lunged for the bed, her hand flying underneath the pillow and withdrawing her stun gun.

"Stay back, Jill," she ordered again, but the little girl didn't need to be told more than once. Vivi was still standing a bit on edge, and Emily began to worry that the cat might bolt. She feared the results if it ran for the Bat. She saw what it had done to a full-grown man, let alone a little kitten.

Another crash came from the door, and Emily saw a leathery, clawed hand through a hole in the surface. She quickly aimed the stun gun and squeezed the trigger. The barbs flew through the hole, and they connected. She heard the Bat howl as it stumbled away, tearing the taser cartridge from the weapon.

She bit back a curse as she turned to her desk, filling another cartridge into the gun. She turned back to the door when a thought entered her mind. "Jill—I'm going to try and lead it away. Once it leaves the door, you run out and get out the front door. Okay?"

"But what about Vi—"

"Don't worry about Vivi! She can take care of herself."

Jill's cheeks were moist with tears. "But Emily—"

"_Do it_, Jill! Listen to me."

Silently, Jill nodded as Emily engulfed her in a hug. She pulled back and rubbed her head softly. "I love you."

"I love you too."

Emily pecked her on the cheek before she turned and got to her feet, closing her eyes and letting out a breath. Then, she disappeared from sight.

When she opened up her eyes, Emily knew that she was removed from Jill's senses and the Bat's. She could hear Jill's whimpering, but she kept it from her mind. She had one focus now and one only: to get behind the Bat and draw it away from the door.

Thoughts began to fill Emily's mind on the best plan of attack, but she pushed them aside. _There isn't time for plans. _She had one urge, and that was the direct approach. Quickly, she moved for the door and flung it open.

The Bat was standing there, a curious look on its face as the door swung open. It then ambled forward, eyes taking in the room. That's when it saw Jill, who let out a scream as the Bat's eyes fell on her.

The creature let out a horrid hiss and Emily knew she had to act _now_. Quickly, she turned to her desk and hurriedly grabbed the confiscated police baton. Without missing a beat, she turned and slid between the Bat's legs. It felt the brush of wind that passed, but not any hint of the girl's form touching its legs.

Emily quickly stopped herself and sprang up, immediately causing her removal of detection to fade as she reappeared to the world. She then swung the baton and cracked it across the creature's skull. The Bat let out a shriek and spun around, its attention off of Jill. _Yes! _Emily continued to back away, and the Bat saw her.

It leapt forward and Emily raised the stun gun, firing off the next cartridge. It drove into the creature's chest, sending a jolt through its body. The Bat lost balance for a moment and crashed to the floor, giving Emily just enough time to dive away to avoid being crushed by its hulking form.

Emily glanced up to see Jill hurrying down the hallway and throwing open the door. She felt a grin come to her face before she felt a clawed hand wrap around her leg. "No no no no no!" she spat as she kicked with her other foot, connecting with the Bat's jaw.

It snapped back, and Emily crawled away. She reloaded the stun gun, chambering another round. This time, she fired it directly at the creature's face. The barbs jabbed into its forehead, drawing blood as the jolt shook the Bat's body. It let out a horrid roar, convulsing on the floor.

Emily loosened the barbs and got to her feet, backing away. The Bat slowly got to its feet, stalking after her.

This fight wasn't over yet.

* * *

"Boss." The slim, young punk in the suit was standing by Carmine Falcone's office door. "Cobblepot's here."

"Send him in," the crime lord's firm voice demanded. The man nodded and ducked away, opening the door and gesturing inside. The hunched form of Oswald Cobblepot entered the office, walking resolutely despite his . . . small stature.

"Falcone," Cobblepot greeted in his aristocratic voice.

"Cobblepot," Falcone returned. "Has your killing been taken care of?"

"Just arranged, good man. Nothing's happened quite yet. But it will soon enough, don't you worry."

"If the job isn't done," Falcone hissed, his nerves growing thin, "then _why_ are _you_ here?"

"Tut-tut, Falcone. You must have patience. I don't see how you've become a crime lord with such thin skin. I just thought I'd introduce you to one of my newer . . . _accomplices_."

Falcone guffawed. "What kind of accomplice is it this time? You've already got that kill-crazed maniac. Who's this guy, some balloon-brained buffoon?"

"On the contrary," Cobblepot said with a gleam in his eye, "they're far from it." He turned to the door and craned his head. "You may enter, Voltova."

Falcone leaned back in his chair, a clearly unimpressed look on his face, until he saw the figure enter the room. A tall, lithe woman entered, moving smoothly and sensually. A mischievous grin adorned her beautiful face, accentuated by the long, wavy black hair she wore freely down her back. Fashion-wise, she was dressed in the finest material one could buy—and it fit her figure to a tee.

The crime lord leaned forward, his interest piqued. "_This _is your accomplice, Cobblepot?" he asked, a stupid grin on his face.

"That she is, Falcone. This is Veronica Voltova. She comes from Russia, and her past is . . . rather colored. A bit too much to go into at the moment, I'm afraid."

"Oh, we have plenty of time," Falcone said, his eyes roaming Voltova. She noticed and seemed to revel in it. "I'd love to hear more about her."

"Well," Cobblepot began, "as I said, she hails from Russia. But things are a little complicated. You see, she began life back during the days of Nazi Germany."

"Be serious, Cobblepot."

"I am," Cobblepot answered firmly. "She was subjected to rather inhumane experiments that have transformed her so that she has halted her aging. She also has some special powers."

"You mean," Falcone cut in, "she's a freak?"

"Mr. Falcone," Voltova spoke for the first time, her Russian accent coming through clearly. She continued her walk around his desk as she drew near to him. "I assure you, I am anything but a freak."

Falcone could feel heat rushing through him as this beautiful woman was mere feet—no, inches—away from him. She slowly reached out, and her cool fingers caressed his cheek. "If you give me a chance, I am certain that we could become very, _very _good friends."

Falcone swallowed, nodding quickly. "Yes, I think that we could."

Voltova drew her hand away from him as she leaned back, sitting on his desk. Falcone cleared his throat and glanced Cobblepot's way. "Tell me, Cobblepot. Is she effective? I mean, her methods?"

"You tell me. You were just subjected to them. Only a small dose, mind you."

Falcone felt a grin come to his lips. "I'd say she is. Very much so."

"Then there you have it. She has a bit of a vendetta against the wealthy and the powerful—she wants what they have to offer. In our cases, you and I can offer her power willingly. Others, not so much. In their case, power must be taken. And that is where Ms. Voltova shines brilliantly."

"I can imagine so." Falcone twisted to look at the Russian once more. "Very well, Ms. Voltova. It looks like you're now part of the Falcone crime family."

* * *

Albert and Grace were strolling down the calm, Gotham street, arm in arm. They had decided to take the subway to their dinner engagement rather than using the car. Made for more fun, Albert had said.

"Dear, did you have to keep telling those jokes? I think Roger was getting rather tired of them."

"Oh, Roger's just a sour-puss. He wouldn't know good jokes if one hit him right in the face—which mine did."

Grace shook her head, chuckling—the very reaction Albert had hoped he would receive. As they walked, Albert began to stop and Grace looked up, following his gaze.

They saw Jill running down the sidewalk.

"Jill! What on earth is she doing out here?" Albert muttered as Jill started to yell.

"Mommy! Daddy!"

"Jill, sweetheart!" Grace said, getting down her knees and enveloping Jill in a warm embrace. Jill buried her head into her mother's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"It's fighting Emily, Mommy! The giant bat!"

Albert's face flushed as he glanced towards the hotel down the street. "Stay here."

"Albert, dear, I know how to—"

"I know you do, but we can't risk having Jill too close!" Without waiting for a response, Albert took off down the street at full speed.

"Emily!" he yelled as he burst through the hotel's front doors. Sounds of a beastly growl filled the air.

"Down here!" Emily's shrill voice cut through the air. Albert moved towards the hallway leading to the family suite. That's when he saw Emily standing in the corridor, the hulking frame of a giant bat, merely a few feet away from his adopted daughter.

"Oh, dear Lord," he muttered as he drew closer. "Emily—are you all right?"

Her breathing had begun to feel more even. "Yes—I think so." Albert nodded as he drew close.

"Good, good. Is _this _from your little side project?"

"You might say that."

"Huh." Albert nodded again. "Now I'm interested."

The Bat sniffed as it eyed both Albert and Emily. It seemed as if it could sense the power between the two of them, and it slowly slunk back, as if it was reconsidering this fight. "It looks . . . scared?" Emily mused.

Albert shook his head. "I have no clue."

Within a moment, the Bat turned and charged into Emily's room. Albert led the way, coming to the doorframe as the Bat leapt from her window. It shattered the glass with its massive form, and it spread its wings to fly. Under his breath, Albert muttered, "Oh no you don't."

He flung out his right hand, and the Bat stilled in midair. Albert's smooth, expressionless face drilled holes in the creature's back as he kept it hovering telepathically. The Bat began to shriek and squirm, but Albert had a tight hold on it.

Emily was watching it all in awe. She had known of Albert's powers, of course—Grace's too. But she had never seen them in action, in a battle scenario. They had used them around the house and to show her that they could, in fact, use special powers, but never to fight something—or someone. It was a new and amazing sight to even her, someone who possessed their own powers.

Quickly, with a snap of the wrist, Albert drew the Bat back into the hallway. It slammed into the wall, collapsing with a thud onto the floor surface. Albert relaxed slightly as Emily came to his side. "Is it . . . dead?" she asked, hopefully.

"Not likely," Albert said. "Get on your phone and contact Gordon. Have him send some people out to collect it. I don't want it getting on its feet again. Not while it's loose."

Emily nodded and she darted into her bedroom, picking up her cell phone. She dialed Gordon's number, and he answered: "This is Gordon."

"Commissioner, this is Emily Thomson," Emily answered.

"Emily! I'm surprised to hear from you. What is—"

"You need to get some men here quick! The Bat came here."

_"WHAT?!" _He yelled so loudly that Albert peered into the room. "I'll have men there right away. I'm coming too."

As he hung up, Emily glanced up to Albert. "He's on his way."

Albert slowly nodded. "He sounded pretty surprised."

"That's putting it mildly." Albert grinned.

"Yeah, I'd say it is." He heard a rustling behind him and spun to see the Bat getting up on its feet again. Without even moving a hand, he summoned a picture to fly from the wall and crash over the Bat's head. It buckled as the shattered picture fell down in a pile.

Albert snapped his head back to Emily. "If Grace asks, the Bat broke that picture—not me." He turned back and muttered under his breath, "Not that I ever liked that picture anyways."

* * *

**A/N: Hello everyone! Here's chapter 23, and guess what? The Bat is finally in custody. Will he stay that way? We also got a bit more of a glance into the criminal underworld here. Things in that department have a bit of a complex structure, so I want to introduce as many parts of it as I can before things get _too _convoluted. Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! As always, be sure to let me know your thoughts in a review, and give me your ideas, suggestions, and anything else in a PM. Also a bit of a sidenote: since the Bat has finally been caught, we're going to get some more downtime with the team now and everyone will get some time to shine in the next few chapters. Thank you all for reading! Until next time.**


	25. Chapter 24 - The Assassin

**Chapter 24 - "The Assassin"**

Four GCPD officers struggled to drag the unconscious Bat from the Langdons' hotel, but they removed it nevertheless, tossing it into the back of a paddy wagon. As one cop shoved its feet inside before slamming the door closed, another removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Do you think those doors will hold it?"

"I dunno," another remarked. "I'm just glad I won't be riding behind it."

Inside, Commissioner Gordon was stroking his chin as Albert recollected what had happened—powers and all. Lucius Fox already knew and Emily's powers had already been revealed, so there wasn't any point in keeping it a secret.

Once Albert finished, Gordon nodded. "I'm just glad you all were safe. If only we had been able to catch it earlier—"

"Relax, Commissioner. You did your best, and that's all that anyone can ask," Albert put in. "No one got hurt." He let out a sarcastic chuckle as he glanced down the hallway. "Well, nothing animate, I guess."

Gordon grinned. "Don't worry. We'll keep the Bat in lockdown until we find out what exactly to do with it." He exhaled sharply. "I just have no clue what this thing can be—I would've never guessed we had a giant bat roaming the streets of Gotham. All of this has turned me on my head, quite frankly."

Albert and Grace nodded understandingly. "If you need any help with the Bat, don't be afraid to call," Albert said.

Gordon nodded once more. "Will do." He extended his hand. "Thanks again, Mr. Langdon."

Albert grinned as he took the commissioner's hand. "Anytime, Commissioner."

Gordon turned and strode towards the door, giving a farewell wave to Emily, Grace, and Jill. He exited, flanked by another police officer. The door shut behind them, leaving the group in silence for a brief moment.

"Well," Grace said, "do you think any of our customers heard all this racket?"

"If not," Albert began, "they need to get their ears checked. I'll do a quick run through the rooms and let them know what it was."

"And just what are you going to tell them?" Grace asked, a grin appearing on her face. Albert froze in thought, then he placed a hand on his chin.

"I'll just tell them a robber broke in and we fought him off until the police could arrive." He grinned to his wife as he turned and took off up the stairs.

Grace chuckled. "What a wonderful plan."

* * *

Annalise was still on her bike when John finally pulled in beside her. "Took you long enough," she said, a smirk on her lips. "Kid."

John sighed as he gave her a playfully stern look. "You know, I'm already getting tired of that."

Annalise slipped off her bike, adding, "I guess you'd better get used to it." John grinned, shaking his head as he followed suit.

The two moved towards the front doors of Leo's. The club was very large—larger than John could've anticipated. He pictured some dingy, smoky bar or something—this looked almost like a convention hall based on size alone. Inside it probably looked like a mansion.

"So you've never been here before?" Annalise asked.

John shook his head. "Nope. Never. I'm . . . uh . . . I'm not one for getting out much, if you get my drift."

Annalise grinned. "Don't sweat it. Trust me: by the time this job is done, you'll have gotten out _a lot_." She and John moved closer to the door as Clyde jogged up the walkway towards the club.

"I thought I'd miss you two," he said, chuckling. "Y'all moved pretty fast."

"No, we didn't. You just moved pretty slow," Annalise quipped as she slunk past John, moving towards the entrance. John gestured to Clyde to enter before him, but Clyde reversed the gesture onto him—albeit with more vainglory. _Southern gentleman, right._

John's expectation of the club being a mansion inside was a vast understatement. It looked like three mansions all meshed into one massive building. People were everywhere, dressed in all sorts of clothing—some were in fancy dresswear, others in worse outfits than he was wearing.

He just hoped no one would pick up the foul sewer stench off of his clothes.

Annalise chatted briefly with a man wearing a pristine tux, who directed them to a secluded booth pressed snugly against the wall. The seat was a rounded U, with leathery cushions acting as the seats themselves. John extended a hand towards the booth, and Annalise took advantage of the gesture, sliding in. Clyde moved onto the other side of the seat, and by the time John had sat down, both men were bookending Annalise into the center of the booth.

"Well, this is nice and cozy, isn't it?" Clyde remarked.

"Speak for yourself," John said. "I'm more comfortable on my lumpy couch than in this seat."

He turned his head slightly to see the guy in the tux beside him. _Oops. _He didn't realize that the man had actually followed them over to the booth. He let out a nervous laugh as the guy stared at him sternly.

Breaking the tension, Annalise said, "Bring us a bottle of champagne, and three glasses. We'll split it."

The man nodded, cast one last suspicious glance at John, then turned and walked away, carrying out her demands. John turned to Annalise and whispered, "Thanks." He could only imagine how red his face was.

"Don't mention it," Annalise said with a grin.

Clyde surveyed the area of the club before turning back to the others. "So . . . what are your first impressions on this little vigilante group we've got?"

Annalise snapped back to him, and she steepled her fingers together. "Well, I think it's got promise. Everyone seems to be getting along well, and we all seem to have our unique talents and abilities. All in all, I think things will work out nicely. Once this bat thing is out of the way, we can focus on eliminating Falcone and his troops—and find out what this whole riddle thing is."

"You were the first on the scene, weren't you?" John asked.

"Not technically first," Annalise answered. "Dante and I stumbled across the city hall and went in while Gordon and the DA were there. We looked around and investigated everything and found the riddle."

"We haven't gotten much of a chance to talk about the riddle and everything, given the whole bat incident and the kidnapping. Did you guys find any leads concerning the riddle?"

Annalise shook her head. "Nothing definite. Everyone has their own ideas, but nothing concrete. Not yet, anyways."

The man in the tux came back, popping out the cork of the bottle as he sat it on the table with three glasses, filled with ice. Annalise and John both gave him nods of thanks, and the man turned to leave when Clyde caught the arm of his jacket. "Hey, partner," he said, and the man shot him a look as if he had thrown slop on his sleeve. "No ice in mine, please."

The tuxedoed employee drilled daggers into him before he picked up the glass and strode off. A moment later, he returned with an empty glass. Clyde nodded and whispered a "thanks," but the man didn't seem to reciprocate.

Clyde turned back, a grin on his face. "What warm service they have here."

Ignoring the whole exchange, Annalise turned her attention to John. "What about you, John? What do you think of the Titan Movement?"

He shrugged. "Like you said, it has promise. I just think we all need to get to know one another better, learn each other's strengths and weaknesses, and then we can work well together." He nodded to Clyde. "What about you, Cly?" He figured he knew the answer.

"I think it's got promise, yeah. But . . . I dunno. I'm still not sold on everything."

"Not sold? What do you mean?" Annalise asked. _You do not want to go there_, John thought, but he said nothing.

Clyde snorted. "I mean—it's all these powers and everything, y'know? It all feels weird, like it's outta some comic book or movie or something."

Annalise's voice dropped in tone. The sweetness was gone. "What do you mean?" she asked. John shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"It's just that . . . working with all these freaks has got me feeling a little uncomfortable. You get the same feeling?"

"'With all these fr—'" Annalise started before John cleared his throat.

"Um, Annalise—where's the bathroom?" he asked hurriedly.

Annalise, her voice changed, spat, "Down there!" and pointed a finger. She turned back to Clyde and John laid a hand on her arm.

"Can you show me? I'm not good at following directions." He shot her a look that said, "Not right now."

Annalise inhaled sharply before she let it out. "Yeah. I'll show you." She gave Clyde a fake smile. "Excuse us for a moment, Cly."

He seemed oblivious at her fuming anger. "Sure thing."

John and Annalise got up from the booth and they weaved through the crowd until they ducked into a shrouded alcove. "What is it?" Annalise said grumpily.

"You're letting him get to you," John replied. "You know Clyde is difficult—that much is obvious from the times we've gotten to be with him. He's a pretty vain guy, if you haven't noticed."

"Vain? He's an egotistical, bigoted—"

"He's _misguided_," John cut in. "Clyde's older—well, humanly speaking—than the others, and he's more grounded in what he's believed his whole life. He's likely never had any run-ins with the supernatural, and he's gotten rather set in his ways. It's pretty common with older people—they get stubborn and refuse to bow down." He gave her an amused smile. "Or am I telling you something you already know . . . old-timer?"

Annalise was huffing, but she slowly began to stop. An amused grin came to her face. "Ha-ha. You got me."

"No, really, I'm being serious. You and I—and probably everyone else in this group who's had some exposure to the supernatural—has become used to these things. People like Clyde aren't. We can't just lash out. We have to learn and understand where they're coming from and try to get them to understand."

"He couldn't understand pain if a train ran into him."

"Maybe not. Some people are like that." He paused, then bit his lip. He glanced up and looked into her eyes. "I'm not trying to get too personal or anything but think in your brother's case. Wouldn't you do anything to try and get Hendrick grounded on your side? Out of . . . wherever it is he has gone?"

Annalise felt a rush of emotion within her at the mention of Hendrick's name. Even though she had felt his presence earlier, it still felt unreal that he was actually free again. John's reminder had brought those feelings to resurface. Slowly, she nodded. "Yes. Yes, I would."

"Then we have to try and do the same with Clyde. It may be difficult—as I said, he is vain and set in his ways. But there's one thing I know, and it's that people can change, if they have people who show them they care and want to help them."

Annalise sighed. "I know. It's just that . . . I don't know, I feel kind of protective of everyone here. Being five hundred, you get to feel experienced. It sounds weird, but I feel almost like I'm the matriarch of this little group."

"That isn't weird," John said. "It's to be expected."

Annalise grinned. "Thanks, John. I'll _try _to understand him. Emphasis on the try."

John shrugged. "That's all anyone can ask."

* * *

The assassin breathed in silence. He made no noise, as he was trained to do. Only when necessary. "Eyes on the target, boss."

"Good," a voice buzzed through the earpiece he wore. "When the time is right, kill him."

"With pleasure," the assassin's rough voice replied. The earpiece fizzled into silence as the assassin adjusted his sniper rifle's scope. He had it trained on the window of Councilman Peter Patrick, waiting for the tall, slender man's form to reappear. He had walked past the window multiple times, but the time wasn't right.

Now, it was.

The assassin kept his weapon trained, peering through the scope. The window's shade was raised, allowing him to get a good view of the room. No one else was there; the councilman's wife and young child were downstairs. No unneeded casualties were acceptable.

The man walked past again, and the assassin's finger feathered the trigger. The bullet whizzed past, escaping through the silencer at the barrel of the rifle. Just as soon as it escaped the barrel, it seemed as if the round punctured the man's skull. Before he could even make a noise, the man's figure collapsed out of sight.

"Job done," the assassin spoke again.

"Excellent. Report back to base."

"On it."

The assassin got up, slinging the rifle over his back. He turned and made for the roof's exit.

He never heard the widow's screams when she found her dead husband.

* * *

Jim Gordon sighed as he entered his small home in Gotham. It was a modest house; nothing grand, but it was still comfortable. He slung his jacket onto the hook by the door, loosening the tie around his neck. He entered the kitchen and grabbed a glass, filling it with water.

When he turned and entered the living room, he saw his fourteen-year-old daughter, Barbara, asleep on the couch. She was in a sitting position, her laptop unfolded in her lap. Gordon grinned as he drank some of the water, sitting down in his recliner.

As he finished the glass, he lay his head back when he heard rustling on the couch. "Dad?" Barbara asked aloud. He glanced up to see her rubbing her eyes. "When'd you get home?"

"Not too long ago," Gordon answered. "Just a few minutes."

She nodded as she yawned. "I must've fallen asleep."

Gordon chuckled. "You'd better get on off to bed and get some real rest so you'll be ready for school tomorrow."

Barbara attempted to let out a disgruntled sigh, but it instead came out as a yawn, damaging her case. "All right, Dad." She closed her laptop and walked over to her dad, kissing him on the cheek. "See you tomorrow."

"Goodnight," Gordon said as he got up. He went to the kitchen sink and deposited the glass in it. He turned and was about to go to his bedroom when his cell phone rang. He withdrew it from his pocket to see Bullock's name in the caller ID.

"What is it, Bullock?" Gordon asked.

"Bad news, Commissioner. Councilman Patrick was just killed."

"What?!" Gordon gasped, exasperated. "How?"

"An assassin. Shot 'im in the head. He went up to his bedroom for something, and he never came down. His wife went looking for him and found him dead."

Gordon felt a rush of emotion within him. Patrick had always been a firm supporter of Gordon personally, and the two had become good friends. "I-I'll be at the Patricks' in a few minutes."

"All right, Commissioner. I'm headed there now. Just wanted to give you a heads up."

Gordon nodded. "Thanks, Bullock." He hung up and laid his phone on the counter. And for the first time in several years, he cried. Not just because Patrick had died, but because of everything mounting up. Gotham was falling apart.

_What in the world is going on?_

* * *

After John and Annalise had returned to their booth with Clyde, things had begun to calm down. All until a certain figure stepped onto a balcony overlooking the main floor of the club.

Clyde saw the man and recognized him immediately, as did John. Both men sat agape, and John glanced to Annalise. "Did you know _he'd_ be here?" he asked incredulously.

Annalise glanced up and slowly shook her head. "No. I knew he had some connections to the place, but I didn't know he'd be here."

Clyde turned and lowered his voice. "You mean—_Carmine Falcone _owns this place?"

"I said he has connections. I don't know if the deed's in his name."

A disgusted look came on Clyde's face. Sensing some tension coming from the man, John nodded to his glass of champagne. "Have another drink, Cly."

"How can you just sit there with Fal—"

"Just take a drink, Cly." John's voice was firm and commanding. Obediently, Cly nodded and kept silent, picking up the glass and sipping from it.

"Just out of curiosity," Annalise piped up, "why did you want no ice?"

"It's a thing I picked up from the South, I guess," Clyde said. "Everything was always warm down there, so I got used to drinking warmer drinks. Sometimes I get ice, but more often I just take it plain."

A glint sparkled in John's eye, and Annalise caught it. Then a mischievous grin appeared on John's lips. "Hey, is that Gordon? What's he doing here?" Clyde turned his head to look, and quickly, John formed a small block of ice and dropped it into Clyde's glass.

"Where? I don't see Gordon anywhere." Clyde turned back and looked at John skeptically.

"Oh, really? I could've sworn that was him." John turned back to Annalise, who was stifling a laugh.

Clyde's eyes darted between the two of them, and he held up his drink to take a sip out of it. When the cube of ice touched his lips, he glanced down and saw it. He looked up to John. "You did this, didn't you?"

"Why would you think that?" John asked.

Clyde shook his head. "I don't hate ice, you know—I just would prefer it not being there." His charming grin reappeared. "You need to work on a better practical joke than that."

Falcone began to move from the balcony he was on, and he walked down a staircase leading to the main floor. "Looks like Falcone's planning on joining the party," John remarked. Annalise and Clyde looked to see him moving down the stairs, nodding and making small talk with a few well-dressed attendants.

Clyde's face twisted up, and he turned to the others. "Look, if he comes over here—"

"Relax, Clyde," Annalise said with a calm grin. "We'll get him to go if he does. Just don't do anything brash."

Clyde frowned. "Easier said than done."

Falcone made the rounds, speaking with a few people, but he didn't draw near their table. "I—um, I feel like I'd better cut out," Clyde said. "Suddenly I don't feel much like the night-out guy."

John and Annalise nodded. "All right, Clyde," John said. "Catch up with you tomorrow."

Clyde smiled, getting to his feet. "See ya, John." He tipped his hat to Annalise before walking out.

"He always keeps up his act, doesn't he?" Annalise commented.

"What? You mean you don't go for his gentlemanly actions?"

"It takes more to be a gentleman than just charm," Annalise said. "Like you said, Clyde is vain."

"And egotistical?" John said, raising an eyebrow.

Annalise shrugged. "I _did_ say that. I don't know—I didn't want to say it with him sitting right here, but when I said everyone 'seems' to be getting along, he was the black sheep I had in mind."

"He does make his thoughts known. Pretty much every conversation I've had with him has led back to some remark about people with powers. Especially Vermin."

Annalise nodded. "Well, I guess we've got our work cut out for us, huh?"

John turned to her. _"Us?" _

Annalise shrugged, then grinned. "We're in this together, _kid_. All of us."

John sighed, refraining from calling her out on the "kid" again. "Yep. That we are."

* * *

**A/N: Well, here's chapter 24! This one didn't seem to get too much done, but we do have our next murder, as well as a bit of downtime with some of the team and even a glimpse at Gordon's home life. As I said previously, next chapter will have more downtime and relationship-building between the team. I hope you all enjoyed it! As always, be sure to let me know your thoughts in a review and if you have anything else you want to bring up, be sure to send me a PM. Thank you all for reading! Until next time.**


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